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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702959">The Thief and the Prince (Derogatory)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight'>Moonfireflight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Rivals to Lovers, fix-it fluff, lots of swearing, multiple pov but mostly akechi, p5r spoiler, pillow humping, playing date chicken, plot what plot -flings it out the window-, slightly dom akechi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:02:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pardon the meme title. It got stuck in my head and wouldn't leave.</p><p>It's exactly what's on the tin. After their duel in Mementos, both Kurusu and Akechi begin to realize some things.<br/>Edit: edited to fix some tense errors.<br/>Edit again: ~formatting~<br/>Edit: I had originally posted this to the anon community but decided to go ahead and claim it because I'm proud of it. </p><p>Beyond the window<br/>Barren trees and powerlines<br/>Sway in dim streetlight</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Thief and the Prince (Derogatory)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Goro Akechi leans against a nearby table, watching the scene play out in front of him to the muted click of billiards and other patrons chatting. Spending an evening out on the town with the Phantom Thieves typically meant being enmeshed in a small, noisome crowd. For now, though, a hush has fallen over them as they watch their leader prepare to take his shot. </p><p>Irritating as the rest of the team could be, Akechi found them useful as a social buffer. When he was just him and Kurusu, Akechi talked too damn much. One day his loose tongue was going to be the death of him. Oh, he had no problem saying all the right things during television interviews, carefully cultivating the image of the charming Detective Prince. Around Kurusu, though, his mask has a nasty habit of slipping. </p><p>It is no surprise as to who breaks the relative quietude first. Sakamoto leans as far over the pool table as he can without touching it, surely imagining a million incorrect scenarios for how this shot would play out. “Dude, can you even see the ball like that? You’re crazy!” </p><p>“Guys, he’s really going for it!” Takamaki’s tittering and Sakamoto’s outburst forcibly draw his attention to what he’s been trying to ignore for the last several excruciating seconds. </p><p>In balancing school, work, and his media presence, one field of study he’d let fall to the wayside was that of the arts. He lacks technical knowledge of the play of light and shadow over form; or the nuances of classical sculpture. But now here’s Akira perched on the damned pool table, arms crooked behind his back, stretching his shirt taut over his fit chest. His delicate fingers are poised just so on the cue as he makes minute adjustments to prep for his trickshot. The muscles along his arms flex and shift as he tests his aim. Every aspect of him exudes confidence even though he’s never tried a shot like this in his life.</p><p>Despite the mantles of carefully cultivated poise and denial he wears, he burns under the seething embarrassment of having given these thoughts even an inch. He can’t be seen clenching his fists to hide the sweat on his palms and the jittering in his chest, so he holds it all back but for a twitch of the muscles under one eye. <em> What are you waiting for?! Take the shot! </em>The voice in his mind is jagged and filled with ire, at its bearer for this temporary weakness, at Akira for making such a show of himself. As if he’d said it aloud instead of the thought lurking in his skull, Akira’s grey eyes abruptly meet his. </p><p>A lesser man would miss the minuscule crook of his lips. It’s an acknowledgment that they both know Akira’s surpassed him at an impossible rate in an area he considered his home turf. But as skilled as he is at reading people, there’s something else in those eyes that he can’t put into words. He has half a second to notice what it’s doing to him, though, like a match dropped down his throat, before Akira flat out grins at him and takes the shot. </p><p>The small crowd explodes around them, and he feels like he’s trapped in the eye of a storm here with Akira silently watching him. The bastard doesn’t even turn to see if he made the shot, relying on his friends to confirm it for him. </p><p>Finally, Sakamoto breaks the spell, cuffing his friend on the shoulder to congratulate him. Akechi cuts short the polite clapping he’d resorted to, grabbing his phone from his coat pocket. He points to it with an expression of apology and shrugs at no one in particular before retreating out into the night. </p><p>Frigid night air rushes into his lungs, but it’s not quite enough to put out the fire. He presses his back to the wooden facade of Penguin Sniper, willing his body heat away, this terrible burning away, but it sinks into his guts and ferments there. It finds a home within and around the hatred he carries with him, and he stands there, helpless against what’s happening inside him. </p><p>The street here is empty, so he lets himself vent a shred of his frustration. Pain rips through his gloved fist as it connects with the wall, the sound of the impact lost to the city’s general din. Though he burns with shame from the childish outburst, it helps. It gives him something else to focus on for… not nearly long enough. </p><p>In a riot of color and noise, the Phantom Thieves spill out into the street, shouting their farewells to each other for the night and dispersing. He’s invisible to them. Already forgotten. It’s for the best. He has no intention of ingratiating himself to them any more than is necessary to use them. </p><p>Only one of them warrants his attention, and even then, those quiet evenings spent at the jazz club or Leblanc were a vital part of his investigation. He needed to learn his foe inside and out, see what makes him tick. But the bastard had turned it all around on him, and instead of learning Akira’s weaknesses, Akechi confessed his own all too often. Could he even pin the blame on him? </p><p>Once more, Akechi’s introspection is interrupted by the cause of it. Somehow he hadn’t realized that Akira was still hanging around until he was standing only a scant few feet away and giving him a bemused smile. “You missed the rest of the game.” </p><p>Only his years of practice at maintaining a perpetual air of geniality keeps him from biting back at such obvious bait. “It is a shame, but you know how busy I am. Besides, it was clear even from the split that you were going to win.” </p><p>Akira tilts his head ever so slightly, this smile never faltering. “But if I’d been playing against you?” </p><p>He answers without hesitation, “Then it would have been a different game entirely.” </p><p>“Is that your famed detective’s insight or something else?” </p><p>The air between them shifts as Akira takes a few slow steps closer. That smile still hangs on his lips, but now it’s just shy of predatory. Akechi can’t fight the shiver that creeps up his spine and hopes the other can’t see it in the dim light. Once it passes, it leaves behind that same heat he came out here to escape. It slithers up his neck, threatening to singe his cheeks, whispering things he refuses to hear before worming its way back down into his chest. There it curls up like a sleeping dragon, each breath a puff of dreamless fire. </p><p>Up until this moment, he’s been able to suppress this line of thought by losing himself in his work. Even at night, when he faced the darkness by himself, he could pretend that the emotions seething within him were born of hate and hate alone. Oh, many of them were, but it was neither hatred nor plotting that piloted his hands when he’d messaged Akira through the blur of tears some nights ago. </p><p><em> Longing </em>. That’s what rips through his chest, leaving him quaking. </p><p>Was it so damned wrong to want to be seen by even one person in his life? To enjoy a peaceful evening and intelligent conversation, and not have to pretend to be the sweet-loving, good boy prince? </p><p>No. That was <em> weakness </em>. He’d made it this far on his own and would continue to do so, and this cretin wasn’t going to stop him. He had earned his place and his independence, and jeopardizing it over childish whims would be unacceptable. </p><p>“Hey, Goro. Are you okay?” </p><p><em> Goddammit, </em> he wants to slap that sincere look off Kurusu’s fucking face! “Excuse me? I may enjoy our discussions from time to time, but I don’t recall permitting you to be so familiar with me.” </p><p>If Akira noticed the uncharacteristically rough edge to his voice, he waves it away without a thought. "Then maybe you should try it."</p><p>"What are you playing at?!" <em> Stop. Sounding. So. Panicked. What. Is WRONG with you?? </em> </p><p>"Nothing. I'm serious. I know you're hurting, and I've learned that letting people in past your defenses allows you to…"</p><p>As if he hasn’t already done more than enough of that. Opening up and talking about his <em> feelings </em> like they mattered in this world. "Oh, I don't think I shall. You may think you have a gift, but this isn't something you can fix with your silvered tongue."</p><p>When he sees Joker smirking back at him, full of his trickster swagger and confidence, Akechi realizes that he’s strolled into a minefield he’d previously been blissfully unaware of until he hears the click from beneath his foot. "Hmm. Then I could use it to distract you for a little bit?"</p><p>"Are you. Completely. Stupid?” Akira replies with a nigh imperceptible shrug, stuffing his hands into his pockets and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “I won't let you call me by name, but you think…" but he’s the one thinking. <em> Kurusu’s on his knees on the dusty floor of that attic, drooling and whining around Akechi’s cock, aching from the fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and </em> THAT needs to not be happening in his brain right now or ever.</p><p>"It's just an offer," he says, tilting his head and shrugging again. The fine veneer of innocence hides nothing, but even still, Akechi can’t fathom what he sees there. From those words, he expects a crass and feral beast to make such an offer. Admittedly, he only sees that if he thinks of the other as his mirror. Somehow he legitimately means this as a <em> kindness. </em></p><p>There has to be a catch. "Do you offer your...services to all of the Phantom Thieves? How vulgar."</p><p>"No." </p><p>In one syllable, Akira has the upper hand. </p><p>There’s not a shred of falsehood behind his blatant proposition, even in those layers of meaning that he doesn’t fully understand, and it <em> pisses him off. </em> “I can see right through your words,” he lies, voice calm once more. “You’re looking to blackmail me. Come on, <em> Joker </em>. You haven’t worn your mask long enough if you think I’m going to fall for something so simple.” </p><p>And he’s got the nerve to flinch as though he’d been slapped. “Akechi. I would never betray your trust like that. I can’t even imagine all you’ve been through, and I refuse to hurt you. Well, outside of a duel anyway, or a well-deserved jab at your pride here and there.”<br/>
<br/>
They stand there, scant breaths apart, in a silent battle of wills, until this time Akechi’s phone actually rings, shattering the scene with a cheerful jingle. Only one person would call him at this hour, and he can feel himself being pulled away from… from what? There are no <em> options </em>. There are no other paths to walk or stumble down. There is only his true job and the divine goal of purest revenge. “I have to take this call,” he says. Cold. Flat. And he turns his back on that foolish almost. “I’m here. What do you need?” </p><p>He can feel grey eyes watching him. Calculating. Plotting his downfall in one way or another. </p><p>
  <strong>…. </strong>
</p><p>By their very nature, dueling with Personas is intensely personal. Every lancing bolt of shining energy conjured by Robin Hood strikes into Akira’s very essence, and the flames brought forth by his Persona, in turn, sears Goro’s soul. He can feel it. The shape of his thoughts, subtle tells as to what attack he’ll try for next. And that insight into his opponent makes the game that much more thrilling. Akira dodges another strike, proving he’s an excellent study as well. He couldn’t ask for a better rival. </p><p>Even as… <em> tch, </em> intimate as the fight is, how it makes his blood boil and every cell in his body thrill and ignite, it’s a <em> farce </em>. He would be glad to have this hidden part of him seen in another life, but the Akechi Goro whose soul called out to Robin Hood is dead. </p><p>He convulses as lighting courses through his being, as this time it lances through his defenses. Another hit will bring him to his knees, and he would die before giving his rival that satisfaction just yet. He had to fucking earn it. “I can’t… kill you,” he hisses. </p><p>Akira crosses the distance between them, somehow looking down on him even without the height advantage. “Unable or unwilling?”</p><p>More than his next breath he wants his hands wrapped around Akira’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until the veins under his fingers throb as they plead for life to flow through them again, as grey eyes bulge and beg him to stop and <em> oh </em> it would be so much sweeter than the clinical pop of a bullet to the brain. But Shido would toss him away like trash if he let… whatever this is ruin his plans. </p><p>The taste of copper sparks on his tongue, igniting some primal source inside. Akechi lunges forward and grabs a fistful of Akira’s shirt and twists. “I hate you!” The words themselves are childish playground bullshit, but how else can he describe this burning inside? </p><p>They might as well have been discussing the weather for all the emotion on Akira’s face. “Yeah? That’s unfortunate.” </p><p>Agony rips through Goro’s arm, and he doesn’t understand why until Akira’s head turns to face him again, one eye closed and red. He has half a second to realize he’s just punched someone for the first time before the world flips, pulsing veins of Mementos glowing behind the furious boy squinting down at him. “Looking for a different kind of fight, then?”</p><p>He’s pinned, calves pressed against his, hands holding him down, unable to move an inch, too tired to fight with anything but words, and he’s not done. Not defeated. That was the visceral spark he needed. "In all honesty, Personas or not, I'd love to see just how far we can go."</p><p>Through ragged breaths that fan over Goro’s face and cling to his throat with his own sharp inhales, Akira snaps, “Ready for more? Right now?” That shit gives him a wolfish grin that says he would eagerly sink his teeth into him. <em>So even he craves blood</em> <em>sometimes. </em></p><p>"Of course not. If we went any further, we'd both go beyond the point of no return, wouldn't we?" Blood on his teeth, his. Would Akira’s taste as sweet? </p><p>"You sound so eager when you talk about it that you make me want to find out too."</p><p>Suddenly his left arm is free, and on instinct, he reaches for his sword, one finger skittering off it, pushing it further out of his reach. “Ah, Goro, do you hate my advances that much?” </p><p>“Shut up,” he spits, shoving Kurusu’s shoulder. </p><p>The strike is futile, but the other loosens his grip a fraction. “Gonna play nice?” </p><p>They hold each other’s gaze, the thrum of Mementos a backbeat to jagged breaths until Akira relents. Back on his feet, aching in twenty places, stomach filled with bile, he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s go.” </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Akira staggers through the door, looking a goddamn mess, out of breath, hair mussed. He can feel the bruises under his clothing and an aching burn under one eye. Thankfully Sojiro is already home. He's missed a text from him but can't muster the energy to reply. </p><p>"Morgana?"</p><p>His cat-shaped companion hops up on the counter, fixing him with a worried look. "Woah! Did something happen??"</p><p>"It's fine. Is there… any way I could convince you to stay with Futaba tonight?"</p><p>He tilts his head. "What's going on?"</p><p>"I need some time to reflect on what happened tonight. I promise I'm not mad at you or anything of the sort. And no I'm not bringing over a girl."</p><p>He slumps against the door as soon as he lets Morgana out, his hand tightening around the glove in his pocket. He swears it's still warm. </p><p>Maybe he is the absolute idiot Akechi accused him of being but dammit, he refuses to snuff out that little spark of hope just yet. Rather, he’d cup it in his hands, giving that precious tiny thing his breath, gently, carefully, encouraging it to glow. </p><p>That’s what he should have been doing. That was the plan. But instead, he threw gasoline on it again and prayed the right chemical reaction would take place somewhere other than at the base of his skull — that primal creature that takes hold NOW and has him practically tearing his clothing off and stumbling to the bed, his prize never leaving his hand. Shit, he doesn’t even make it there, barely made it up the stairs. He wants this hard and dirty, grit from the floorboards scraping his back as he drops down to it. </p><p>He’s already hard, or rather, <em> still </em> is. The roles have been reversed, and he’s the one pinned and helpless, gasping for breath before his seeking hand even reaches its goal. His head snaps up when his fingers brush against his dick. Even that’s suddenly too much. He grunts as his skull meets wood, knocking a ragged breath loose.  </p><p>His other hand squeezes around the glove. Akechi’s <em> glove </em> . It’s a promise that they’ll fight again, no holds barred. If they do, there’s every chance that one will destroy the other. He doesn’t think Akechi would have it any other way. God, he wants to save him from this, from his past, from that certainty, but right now, he wants to <em> be </em> destroyed. </p><p>The little heater isn’t doing shit against the snarling winter scratching at his window. As a violent shiver rips through him, muscles tensing in waves across his body, a terrible idea occurs to him. Still holding back despite how much he wants to indulge, he quickly drags the glove across one of his rock hard nipples. <em> Oh, fuck. </em> He rarely bothers with them while getting himself off. How the hell are they so sensitive now? </p><p>It can’t just be the glove. Maybe the cold… but his fingers don’t draw out anything close to it. No, the warm, smooth leather is what he needs. He flicks it over his skin again, and it’s <em> too good </em> to deny any further. Making slow circles with one limp leather finger, teasing that hard bead of flesh, he drools out a moan. But the novelty wears off too soon, and he needs more. Akechi wouldn’t be so gentle, right? Not the version of him he saw in Mementos - bloodthirsty and resplendent.</p><p>Akira scrabbles around until he manages to pinch a nipple between two of the glove’s fingers. His leg twitches under him, and he ends up with his heel braced against the floor, hips lifting up to buck against nothing. He lets out a frustrated growl — the one who holds the other glove should be here, leather sliding over his cock, back down to cup his balls, squeezing just enough to send the fear of pain thrilling through him. And for half a second, he considers further crimes with his gift, but he could never sully it like that. What he’s doing already feels sacreligious. But maybe he could… while his hands are still clean. Anticipation jitters up his spine, leaving his fingers trembling. The inside of Goro’s glove is lined with something… soft. Fuzzy. Akira almost laughs at that, like it confirms his suspicions that there’s still something vulnerable inside of his rival, but he doesn’t let his brain latch on to that line of thought. Not when he wants to be <em> wrecked </em>. </p><p>He thrills at this new level of blasphemy as he wriggles his fingers in against straining seams. Compared to his metaverse garb, it feels luxurious, even if the fit is tight. During their last game of darts, Akira had taken time to admire Goro’s delicate fingers, but this… this is a visceral presentation of the difference between them, and ah, he can’t take it anymore, gripping the base of his cock with his ungloved hand and letting the other roam over his chest. Now, <em> this </em> is what he needs. </p><p>A quick swipe of his thumb over the head of his cock comes away slick with pre. Heat blooms in his cheeks, hot as a sunburn, at the realization of exactly how fucked up he is already from so little actual contact. Nothing could stop him now though short of the roof falling down on him. Leather-clad fingers trace the curve of his ribs, dig at his breastbone, seeking on their own. He wants to draw this out, but his hips keep twitching up to meet his hand, and with his eyes shut tight he can <em> feel </em> the other all over him, crushing him down against the floorboards, demanding he offer himself up in every way. </p><p>With his breath coming in noisy, rapid pants, it sounds far too loud to him. Even if he has the cafe to himself, he can’t risk being seen like this and doesn’t trust Morgana to not be on standby in case he was lying about his vague reason to want privacy for a change. Without thinking, he claps a hand over his mouth.</p><p>A sharp inhale fills his head with the soft scent of leather and some lingering <em> something </em> that can only be Akechi… how had he not noticed the detective’s cologne before? Beneath sedate floral notes, there was pine, but it was wild and fierce like a wolf tearing through a forest in search of prey. Akira begins to squirm helplessly at the thought, covering his mouth in full so he can let out the moan he’s been holding back. The leather against his lips feels impossibly soft, and more than anything, he wants to taste it, to have that scent fill him and cascade down his throat, but he can’t bring himself to dirty his prize, his promise. But only just. </p><p>Akechi would laugh at him and never stop if he knew how weak Akira was for him. He doesn’t just want him. He wants to be <em> for </em> him. If taking out his years of pain on Akira was the only way to heal him, so be it. He’ll be the receptacle for all of his hatred, his sin eater, supping on his suffering to save Goro and the rest of the world from it until he breaks down into nothing, having fulfilled his purpose. And he gasps, bucking hard up off the floor as leather clenches around his throat, Akechi snarling in unrestrained rage in his warped vision, teeth bared and gleaming, and that finally hurls him over the edge. He bites his tongue hard enough to taste copper under the pine musk that still clings to his palette, twitching limbs falling limply to the floor as the last spurts of his orgasm splatter over his stomach and thighs. </p><p>He lays there like that for too long, a heaving, wrung-out heap. When he finally tries to sit up, he finds his joints ache from the cold and the earlier exertion, something he’s not used to. He rolls to his side, getting his knees under him so he can stand. Though his parched throat begs for him to plod downstairs for water, the thought of the trek exhausts him, so he staggers to the bed and falls into it. A draft from his window reminds him of the mess on his stomach, and though he knows he’ll regret it tomorrow, he wipes it off with his blanket. </p><p>As exhausted as he is, he’s not tired, though, and after a while of staring at the wall next to his bed, he remembers he should plug in his phone for the night. Back in bed, less comfortable now that he’s tethered by the too-short cable, he goes against his better judgement once more and unlocks it. The screen is obnoxiously bright, and he winces as the light from it lances straight to the back of his eyeballs and into his skull. Opening his uninjured eye halfway, he fumbles with it until he can turn down its awful glare to something tolerable. </p><p>No new messages.</p><p>What did he expect? For his words, his fumbling forwardness to have made it to Akechi after they parted? After the other confessed his hatred for him? </p><p>He pulls up their private conversation, blearily glancing through the last several messages. It was little more than his perfunctory invitations and Akira’s eager replies. Even still, he couldn’t believe that their friendship was a lie, even with that confession. They had a connection. Maybe this was entirely one-sided, but he wasn’t ready to give up. </p><p>And that’s when he has another bad idea. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>The entire ride back to his apartment is a blur as the winter night’s air caresses Akechi’s face with all the loving care of frozen sandpaper. Stinging, burning, sweating under his coat, he jams his bicycle into its spot, beyond caring if he’s bothered to lock it up or not.</p><p>Once inside and out of the wind, the silence of his studio settles around him. It’s such a stark contrast to the noise and chaos of his earlier fight with Joker that he can’t help laughing. </p><p>That brawl had been the single most frustrating, exhilarating moment of his life so far. Dispersing a shadow was never so satisfying, as they fall apart under his sword more like smoke than flesh. And the victims of his extraordinary talents? They never saw him coming. It was as impersonal as a bullet to the brain from a mile away. </p><p>But that duel with Joker… he shivers as he replays it in his mind. </p><p>He shucks off his coat, hastily draping it over the back of his couch rather than hanging it up as he usually would. It’ll survive one night of rough treatment. </p><p><em> He could use a night like that himself, </em> he thinks, then hissing at himself and jamming the idea back into an unused corner of his mind. Ugh, how <em> crass </em>. All he wants is to relive that moment again, but this time he’ll be the one winning. Akechi spots his blankets on the bed, all bunched up into a rough roll, and in a fit of mad glee, he pounces on it. Straddling the blanket pile, he brings his hands down upon it, squeezing with furious force.  Once more, the image of him wringing the life from Akira with his bare hands seeps into his mind. Feeling his pulse leap in a panic, then slow, still. What would he sound like, choking and sputtering, gasping for breath, begging for his life…?!</p><p>Probably not like his phone chiming with a new message. Snarling, he fishes it out of his pocket and unlocks it in case there’s a message from Shido or one of his relevant contacts. At the sight of the name “Kurusu”, he slams it face down onto the bed. <em> What the hell does he want now? </em> As he tries to summon back up the image of his rival thrashing helplessly under him, he begins to realize several things at once. His pants are far too tight stretched like his around the bulk of the blankets under him, and, in turn, his traitorous body has given him a new problem — one that was both a source of pain and soothed somewhat by every movement against the blankets. Without a thought, he grabs one of his pillows and jams it under the heap, giving himself more to rub against. </p><p>It was maddening, but he could feel the gentle friction wearing away at the sharpest points of those brittle emotions tumbling through him. Even with no possible way of anyone seeing him in such a state, it was deeply embarrassing to let go like this but… it wasn’t hurting anything so long as he could reign in his thoughts. The fight. Winning against Joker... underneath him… no that was worse. Better. <em> Damn him! </em> When had his apartment grown so hot and disgustingly damp? He undoes a few of the buttons on his shirt with fumbling fingers, letting it hang partly open to vent the heat welling up inside of him. </p><p>He’s just begun to settle into a nice rhythm that was more pleasurable than not, in turns welcoming and fighting off images of his rival — Joker digging fingers into his thighs or reaching up to fruitlessly bat at the arms pinning him down — when his phone chimes again. </p><p>“What the hell does he want?” he spits, grabbing his phone and planting his thumb down hard on the conversation to open it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Kurusu</b>
</p><p>“I just wanted to let you know you were amazing tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>His blood turns to ice, sluggishly lurching through his veins. <em> Why did he have to phrase it that way? Damned pervert. </em> That surge of ice becomes magma as he realizes the irony of him berating Akira so when he's the one pathetically rutting against his bedding. He should have thrown the phone away right then, but he catches the next message anyway. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Kurusu</b>
</p><p>“The way you wield your powers with such grace and precision… I was on edge for the whole fight, sure you were going to come out on top.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck you fuck you fuck you, </em>he chants in his mind, hips moving faster in time with his tirade. He’s about to put the phone down when another message rings in, making him jump. The extra pressure against his dick tears a ragged breath from him. He wants to tell the other to fuck off and leave him alone, but he's too far gone to stop, even if it meant he was inevitably going to make a mess of his pants. Typing on his phone wasn’t happening. Everything about this moment is utterly infuriating, so why not read another message? </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Kurusu</b>
</p><p>“Your skills are awe-inspiring, Goro. You belong with the Phantom Thieves. I know, in time, you’ll be a good fit.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Impressive.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Good. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You belong. </em>
</p><p>The words sink into Akechi’s brain like a drug, melting over him and down his spine. </p><p>
  <em> Good. You’re so good… </em>
</p><p>This time he does drop his phone, letting it fall unseen somewhere next to him on the bed. Too late. Kurusu’s words were an info hazard that had already wormed its way into his mind. <em> You’re doing so well</em>. </p><p>Any willpower he tries to dredge up to fight it slides off the image solidifying before him. Still under him, Akira was wearing a satisfied smile, eyes shining from behind his messy fringe. He’s trailing soft touches along Goro’s neck and chest. His skin shivers. What would that… even be like? Touched, by someone who…<em> fuck, he’s so close.  </em></p><p><em> Good. Now lower yourself down on my cock, ah, just like that… </em> Goro’s brain whites out as he shamelessly grinds against the form under him to the cadence of Akira’s imagined praise. If he weren’t seconds from losing it, he could strip off his clothing, and… would his fingers even feel anything like… he’s never tried anything of the sort, and the idea disgusts him. <em> Good good good, </em>maybe it would be fine if it were him. Him, him, him, he’ll do it for him and earn his praise and he could be so good and he’s soaring.</p><p><em> That’s right, let go. You earned it </em> </p><p>Brilliant light blooms in his mind, erasing all else but Akira’s encouragement, his adoration, and the perfection of this false moment.</p><p>In that blazing, unfathomable heat, his wings begin to melt and deform. From grace, he falls, limbs akimbo. He’s sprawled in his bed, alone, his shame dribbling down one leg and soaking into his clothing. Though the pull of the abyss is mighty, if he falls asleep like this, he would hate himself even more than usual in the morning. He kicks the pile of blankets off the bed and climbs out, wobbling like a newborn animal finding its legs. </p><p>Stripped and as clean as he can bother getting himself, for now, he falls back into an empty bed. His phone chimes again, and he rolls his eyes hard enough to trigger the start of a dull headache. Mechanically, he scoops it up and taps the new message. <em> Fucking Kurusu again. Does he never sleep? </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Kurusu</b>
</p><p>“What do you say? Want to talk about it tomorrow over coffee?” </p><p> </p><p>Jamming his thumbs against the screen with more force than necessary, he bangs out “rot in hell.” He doesn’t send it, but the thought of doing so makes him feel marginally better. No, he does not want to talk to Kurusu about <em>anything </em>tomorrow or any time soon, but he has to stick with the mission. It wouldn’t do to end the game prematurely. If he can be polite while carrying that burning coal of hatred around, he can work through whatever this is. “I hope you mean Leblanc. There are a few blends there I have yet to try.” </p><p>Kurusu’s reply is instant. “Perfect. I know one that you’ll love. I’ll brew you up a cup myself.” A second later. “Looking forward to it.” </p><p>This is… Why is he so insistent? Nevermind. His messages mean nothing. What happened tonight was a response to stress and the exhilaration of the fight. This time he does shut off his phone and let it drop to the floor. It's <em>so </em>hilarious that the one person he's managed to connect with needs to die by his hands.</p><p>The restless night is not kind to him. Winter howls at his window, and his mind stews in hopeless possibilities with which he wants nothing to do.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Akira's first sensation upon achieving some semblance of being awake is a sharp pain in his side. Whatever is trying to murder him ought to hurry it up so he can get back to sleep. “Just let me die in peace,” he grumbles. The pain, the light, it fades away a little as he lets himself go back to the comfortable space he was already missing. </p><p>“Mrow! You’re lucky you have me for an alarm clock. Boss is waiting for you impatiently downstairs. He has that look. You know the one.” </p><p>“Ugh, thanks. I think. Can you please not stand on my organs, though?” Once his fuzzy assailant hops off of him, he rolls over and fumbles for his glasses. Slowly last night comes back to him, helped along significantly by the realization that he hadn’t worn anything to bed. “Hey, uh, Morgana. Can you turn away for a sec?” </p><p>“What do you…” Morgana cuts himself off with an indignant meow, fleeing to the staircase railing to look very pointedly in the other direction. “Are you sure you didn’t have a girl over last night? Was it someone I know? It better not have been Lady Ann! If you dare sully her…”</p><p>“I solemnly swear that you have nothing to worry about there,” Akira replies with a chuckle. All of the ladies in the Phantom Thieves are gorgeous in their own right. More than one of them had at least hinted that they had feelings for him too. <em> But no </em> , he thinks, threading his arms through his shirt and pulling it down into place, <em> of course, the only teammate I have eyes for is the one planning to backstab me. </em> Futaba would call it playing the game of love on hard mode. Well, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.” </p><p>“You better mean it. About Lady Ann, I mean.” Morgana digs his front claws into the railing, arching his spine to stretch. “Anyway, make sure you look presentable. It’s late enough that there might be customers down there already!”</p><p>While he usually uses the bathroom downstairs to take care of his hair, it sounds like he won't have that luxury today. As he does his best to tame his locks blindly, he decides to check the second-hand shop later on for a mirror for his room. Maybe he could use his phone camera for now. He unlocks it quickly, Mona watching him all the while with an impatient tapping of his paw. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>New Message</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Akechi Goro</b>
</p><p>“I haven’t heard from you yet, so I assume you didn’t mean for me to meet you there for breakfast. I have a few tentative plans I’m waiting to hear back on today, so if you meant your offer, you need to be more specific.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh shit.  </em>
</p><p>That’s right. In his ludicrous post-orgasmic high, he’d invited Goro here. For coffee. He scrolled back through the rest of the messages he’d sent last night and cringed. As sure as he was that Goro has a praise kink he’s not even aware of yet, he’d laid it on thick. <em> Yes, but he still agreed. </em></p><p>“Me-YOW! Boss will be mad if he comes up here and finds you playing on your phone. What’s that weird look for anyway?” </p><p>“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mutters, nearly dropping his phone. He had to get downstairs, but he had to reply too, or he would effectively be chickening out on his plans with Goro. That wasn’t happening. “Doing some work for Boss this morning, but let’s plan for the afternoon? 12:30 or 1 sound good?” He fires off the message as his foot hits the first stair, hoping he hadn't sent a typo-laden disaster. Phone silenced and shoved in his pocket, Akira heads downstairs. </p><p>The trip leaves him slightly out of breath thanks to his emergency text and less than restful sleep. Making plans to meet up with a teammate shouldn’t be so stressful. <em> A teammate you regularly flirt with, daydream about, and now, fap to thoughts of, so maybe yeah, stress is a valid response. Though technically it wasn’t the first time I’d gotten off thinking about him but did that really even count? since I started by thinking about something else and then Akechi just came to mind and </em></p><p>“Hey, Kurusu! Stop spacing out. I’m not your dad, so I shouldn’t have to tell you to get ready properly before you try to walk into my kitchen.” </p><p>Akira stands dumbfounded a few steps from the counter and shakes his head to clear it. A quiet, “Right,” is the only answer he can muster before sheepishly turning around. </p><p>Once in the cafe’s small restroom, he peers at his face in the mirror. Other than his hair being far messier than usual, something else is missing. He squints at his reflection and runs his fingers through his unruly locks. <em> What would Goro’s hair feel like? It always looked so soft... He’d never let me live it down if he knew I was thinking things like this and… </em> Oh. His glasses. That’s what’s wrong. He does what he can for his appearance, and shouts a quick “one sec!” before bolting up the stairs to retrieve his frames. Though his eyesight is fine without them, he’d gotten so used to them that he no longer feels like himself without their weight on his nose. </p><p>Helping Sojiro out at Leblanc is never a chore for Akira. It gives him a chance to earn his keep, and the cafe has started to feel like an extension of his little attic home instead of exclusively Sakura-san’s realm. As he falls into a comfortable rhythm of prepping equipment and grinding coffee beans, Sojiro too let his morning grumbling fade away. Akira catches the man frowning at him from the corner of his eye but doesn’t pry into his feelings. He’d talk about it eventually if he were comfortable doing so. With two doing the work, the cafe is ready for the day well before the door chimes to welcome any customers. </p><p>With nothing to keep him occupied, but without having officially been released from his duties, he can't help being very aware that his phone is <em>right there </em>in his pocket. He wants to look, but so long as he doesn’t, that buzzing earlier safely remains Schrodinger’s text. Akechi had both lost their game and said he was too busy to meet up; and agreed to their definitely-not-a-date. Was his phone always this heavy and pointy? </p><p>Sojiro lets out a long sigh. “All<em> right</em>. I can tell that something has you ready to bolt out the door the second I say you can. You did a fine job this morning, so I can’t complain. Just don’t stay out too late.” </p><p>As if he’d been told Shido had confessed all his crimes unprompted, relief and excitement both jolt through him. Resisting the urge to fling his apron into the kitchen and run out the door, he instead thanks Boss, though his words sound hasty to him as they fall out of his mouth. With his apron returned to its hook and the merry jingle of the door chime to wish him goodbye for the day, Akira steps out into the streets of Yongen-Jaya. </p><p>The message. If he never checks it, he doesn’t have to deal with being rejected, right? But if he’d said yes and Akira ignores it, then he’s effectively forfeited. Not happening. He’s hyper-aware of how clammy his palms are against the late fall chill at the thought of getting his answer or anyone witnessing his reaction to either option. So, he wipes his hands on his pants and ducks into the laundromat, which is blessedly devoid of customers. </p><p>“Where are we going today? Don’t we have some Memetos targets?” </p><p><em> Oh right. Morgana. </em> “Dunno yet,” he answers vaguely. This is going to require stealth, it seems. He slips his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it with one hand, keeping it at his hip and out of Morgana’s view. Yep, that new message was from Akechi. Augh, why was he so nervous? They’d made plans like this more than once before? It just felt different this time, though maybe that was his guilt over indulging so fully in fantasy last night. <em> Get it over with, man! </em> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>New Message</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Akechi Goro</b>
</p><p>“Some variety show I’ve never heard of decided to have me on after all, and I’ll need to be at the studio at 1.” </p><p> </p><p>So far, so good. The pain in his chest is only minorly debilitating, assuaged a bit by the relief of not having to face him after last night and not being the one who called it off… wait, there’s another message. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Akechi Goro</b>
</p><p>“Given how long these things take for even such a short interview, I should be free by 4 pm.”</p><p> </p><p>The familiar sensation of tiny paws on his shoulder snaps him out of the minor stupor he’d apparently slipped into. “Hey! Why are you hiding your messages from me? That’s awfully suspicious. You better not be planning something with Lady Ann!” </p><p>Akira shuts his eyes and shoves his phone back in his pocket. In the two hours since waking up, he’s run through a whole gamut of emotions and is already tired. But, Morgana brought up a good point. He is being weird about this for no reason. Meeting up with his various confidants was how he spent most of his days. “Nope. I was trying to meet up with Akechi-kun, but he’s busy.” Not all day, though. By telling him when he’d be available, that meant they were still on. He also realized that enough messages had scrolled by that Morgana wouldn’t have to see his late-night text spree, so he retrieved his phone and thought about how to reply. </p><p> </p><p>“4 is perfect. I’ll be waiting for you at Leblanc with a fresh cup of coffee.” </p><p> </p><p>His thumb quivers before hitting send. The rest of the message his brain had helpfully dredged up lingers in his mind. “I’ll be waiting for you at Leblanc with a fresh cup of coffee to welcome you home.” </p><p>
  <em> Oh, Akira. You’ve got it bad. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>“Fascinating,” the interviewer drawls. “So anyway, less about how you intend to track them down and more about the Phantom Thieves themselves! We’re just dying to hear the dirt.” </p><p><em> What kind of show was this again? </em> He squints a little against the harsh lights flooding this sea of pink in which he’s barely treading water. Every time he’s tried to deflect the course of the conversation back to his investigation, this woman steers it right back into gossip. </p><p>“Oooh, does that mean you don’t have any juicy details yet? Come on, you said they were probably high schoolers. Does that mean there are any cute girls on the team? Orrr, any cute boys?” </p><p>“As I said, I have not ascertained anything about their identities beyond that. It is only logical that they attend school somewhere here in Tokyo, as this has been the epicenter of both the psychotic breakdowns and changes of hearts.”</p><p>She claps excitedly and leans in close like she’s telling him a secret. One that the entire audience can hear, and who knows how many at home. “Speaking of hearts, how does it feel to have a rival who thoroughly challenges you?”</p><p>“I’m not sure what that has to do with hearts, but I will say I enjoy trying to stay a step ahead of him.” He doesn’t realize the slip he’s made until the audience bursts into a lurid chorus of “ooh!”s. </p><p>“Him! So, Akechi-kun. You know their leader is a boy. Does he go to your school?”</p><p>“I said I didn’t…” The set lights sear into him, making his stomach ache and his eyes water. This entire moment is ridiculous in every way, and he’ll never do another damn interview again without thoroughly vetting them first. </p><p>“I can just see it now, can’t you girls? A budding friendship between classmates, only to discover that they’ve been trying to outmaneuver each other as Phantom Thief and Detective Prince. Awww, are you blushing, Akechi-kun?” </p><p>A bead of sweat slides down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his dress shirt. <em> Stay calm. </em> “You’re misrepresenting the evidence.” </p><p>“Girls, look at his little pout! Cute! What do you think? Doesn’t this story have amazing potential for a tale of romance? Enemies to lovers, even? Get out your buzzers and vote yes if you can’t wait to hear more about the Prince and the Thief!” </p><p>Akechi watches in horror as the votes tick in, unable to speak. There’s an overwhelming majority of responses coming in under the glowing letters that spell out his sentence. Yes, dozens of people he doesn’t even know are rooting for him to enter into a tumultuous relationship with his rival. Yes, they’re all thinking about him kissing another boy. Yes, the same one who offered to distract him with his tongue. </p><p>He’s yet to trigger a mental shutdown in someone for something as petty as revenge but the temptation, the knowledge that he <em> could </em>, burns hot enough to tamp down some of his shame and help him find his voice again. “That certainly does have the making of a good story! I’ll make sure to keep you in mind when they start work on the movie based on my autobiography.”</p><p>The woman next to him squeals, loud and shrill. “You heard it here first! Alright, everyone! Let’s make sure to cheer for Akechi-kun and Phantom-kun! Well, that brings an end to this segment. Don’t forget to send me any fan art you create of our favorite new couple so I can post it up on my Twitter page! See you after this break!” </p><p>
  <em> Fan. Art.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Phantom-kun. </em>
</p><p>With his eyes nearly shut and a smile chiseled into his face, he bows to the interviewer and turns to leave the studio. </p><p>
  <em> He’ll murder Kurusu in his sleep if he caught even a second of this nightmare. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>With hours to go before Akechi’s visit, Akira was left with time to kill but didn’t want to get too involved in anything and miss their afternoon plans. Sojiro had given him a raised eyebrow when he’d returned so quickly but didn’t comment on it. After beating a few stages of Star Forneus, and without cheats this time, Akira was feeling better about handling whatever the day would bring. He glances at his phone and, realizing the time, remembers that Akechi was going to be late because of an interview. Would it be televised live, he wonders?</p><p>Morgana hops down from his post inches from the old TV to see what Akira was looking at. He flips through several channels, but none are running programs with interview segments except for one. “Isn’t this segment for girls?” </p><p><em> This again. </em> “Does it matter? Gender is a construct, anyway. Now shush.” </p><p>“Why are you switching through all the local news channels? Wait, I know! You’re looking for any leads on Mementos targets, right? </p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>“I guess maybe we could hear gossip about a celebrity who’s up to no good or…” Akira’s heart trips over itself and bounces off the floor, leaving him staring gormlessly at his phone. “Wait! Is that Akechi-kun?! What’s he doing on a girl’s show?” </p><p>He punches the volume up key several times to drown out any further commentary from Morgana, and Akechi’s voice pours into his skull through his earbuds. Now, this is a delicacy. His tone is warm and rich, bringing to mind thoughts of a hot bath on a biting winter’s day. The words barely register with him, just the cadence and flow wrapping around his thoughts. It’s only the interviewer’s laugh that pulls his attention back to the interview itself. </p><p>“I said I didn’t...”</p><p>It’s faint, and he wishes he could zoom in on his face to confirm it, but he swears Akechi is <em> blushing </em> at whatever he was just asked! <em> Focus, Akira! </em> </p><p>The woman interviewing him is practically singing now. “I can just see it now, can’t you girls? A budding friendship between classmates, only to discover that they’ve been trying to outmaneuver each other as Phantom Thief and Detective Prince. Awww, are you blushing, Akechi-kun?” </p><p><em> Holy shit he is. And...is this woman </em> shipping <em> them?  </em></p><p>He can barely hear Morgan’s “Hmmm,” over the crowd losing it over this proposed scenario, but ignores it. </p><p>“You’re misrepresenting the evidence.” There’s an unmistakable quaver in Akechi’s voice. Akira feels a little guilty thinking this, but he likes it. What would he sound like when he’s <em> really </em> embarrassed, he wonders? The idea bounces around in his brain, rousing other sleeping fantasies that pop up like startled cats. </p><p>“Girls, look at his little pout! Cute!” <em> Unreasonably </em>so, yes. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it. </p><p>Akira is only vaguely aware of black and white fur in his peripheral vision until he winces from the pain of one of his earbuds being slapped out. “I said, HMMMM.” </p><p>“I heard your first ‘hmmm’. What?” Rubbing his sore ear, he turns away from the pesky feline to continue watching the show. In his other ear, the woman on TV is saying something about the audience voting. Numbers tick up on the enormous board behind her. Whatever the ‘yes’ option is, it’s massively in the lead, and Akechi is slinking lower in his seat by the moment. </p><p>Morgana hops back up on the desk, putting his snout inches from Akira’s nose. “You’re the one with the weird look on your face. You were so sure to tell me that you didn’t have a girl over last night. Was it… a boy instead?” </p><p>Akira blocks his accuser’s stare with his phone so he can keep watching. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that anyway, but <em> no. </em>” The woman drones on, and he just catches the phrase ‘our favorite new couple’ and can’t suppress a giggle at Goro trying so hard to keep cool when every cell of his body probably wants to be anywhere else. The way he managed to walk off stage while faking calm was impressive, honestly. Most people would probably even believe it. </p><p>A paw shoves his phone back down so Morgana can talk to him again. “Hey! I didn't say I had a problem with that. But <em> Akechi?</em>  You do remember that we've been working on an elaborate plan to keep him from killing you, right? </p><p>“Mmhmm,” answers Akira, already picking up his game controller again. The frantic action of Star Forneus would be perfect for shoving any other thought from his mind because, at this point, he’s decided he’s very tired of thinking and being thought about. </p><p>"You're hopeless."</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When Akira’s phone dings again, he jumps, crashing his spaceship into a gross alien creature. “Aw man, you were almost through the level too. Anyway, who is it? Your boyfriend?” </p><p>In his attempt to hold the controller and his phone, he manages to drop both when the question hits him. “He’s not my…!”</p><p>Morgana interrupts by placing both paws on his shoulder. “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, be careful.” How his feline features can look so earnest, Akira isn’t sure, but he’s grateful for it. </p><p>“It’s not likely this is going anywhere, but I promise I’ll be careful.” He looks at this phone lying face down on the floor, stomach sinking a little at the thought that it might be broken. Talk about a stupid way to lose their game. He flips it over, looking with only one eye as if that might help somehow, and finds it intact. He lets out a sigh of relief and unlocks it. It’s only three in the afternoon, meaning he still has an hour before Akechi should be here. There is a new message, but it’s not from who he hoped. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>New Message</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Sakamoto Ryuji</b>
</p><p>“I need your help with something real fast. In Mementos. I just found out someone’s been harassing my mom and I got their name. Can we keep this quiet though? Me and you kickin’ some ass in Mementos?”</p><p> </p><p><em> Shit. </em> He would never leave Ryuji hanging, especially in a matter regarding his family. Hell, he practically <em>was </em>family at this point. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Want to meet up now?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sakamoto Ryuji</b>
</p><p>“Yeah! I owe you one, man. I’m headed there now.”</p><p> </p><p>And he’s got another message to send too. </p><p> </p><p>“There was a minor emergency. I’m going into Mementos with Ryuji just now. Personal matter. Shouldn’t take long. I know breakfast has become after-dinner coffee, but I hope that’s still alright? I’ll see you later.” </p><p> </p><p>Since he won’t get the response until he’s back in the real world, he just has to hope Akechi will understand. <em> Don’t give up on me, please. Because I’m not ready to give up on you.  </em></p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p><em> How late was ‘later’ supposed to mean? </em> He knows time flows differently in Mementos, and it wasn’t fair to expect Kurusu to know precisely when he’d be back. Though it wasn’t really fair for Akira to leave him hanging like this either. Why would he need to go there alone with Ryuji? He should be there in Mementos too, running shadows through with his sword and fighting alongside…</p><p>He’s half tempted to dive into Mementos just for the thrill of the hunt and to blow off some steam, but if he misses Akira’s message, then he’s lost their childish game of chicken or admitted that it’s becoming weird. Yet if he’s got to spend another hour killing time around Yongen-Jaya he’s going to lose his damn mind. He wanders back towards Leblanc, gazing up at the sky. The moon hangs low, illuminating the leading edge of a cloud heavy with the potential for snow. Maybe he should wait for Akira in the cafe, but he doesn’t relish the idea of having to make conversation with his ward. </p><p>The message finally arrives just as he’s walking away from the place again and seriously considering leaving. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>New Message</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Kurusu</b>
</p><p>“I’m back. I’m sorry to have left you hanging for so long, but this couldn’t wait. I hope you’ll still join me?” </p><p> </p><p>Does he really think he’s going to give up now? </p><p>“I’ll be there in five.” Of course, that means he needs to walk all the way to the end of the street again and then back — a trip that does, in fact, take five minutes. He knows because he’s been doing this for the last forty-five. But who’s counting? </p><p>It’s the walk back that feels like it takes an eternity. This innocuous plan has turned into something vague and dangerous hanging low over his head all day. It’s no longer casual coffee at the cafe with Sojiro present as a mitigating factor for whatever was brewing between them because Akechi can see him leaving the shop and walking the other way, black cat in tow. Morgana glances over his shoulder and fixes Akechi with an unfathomable look, street light glinting off his eyes, then dashes off to catch up with Sakura-san. No, now this is something different. Taking that last step to the little alcove in front of Leblanc feels like stepping into the metaverse — a strange shift in the air, a ripple of potential. And it irritates him because he <em>knows </em>he’s in control of his own fate, but this still feels like crossing a point of no return. He steels himself with a breath and opens the door, greeted by a soft jingle and Kurusu seated casually on one of the stools.</p><p><em> Shit. </em> There’s nothing unusual about Akira’s appearance other than a faded mark under his right eye from where he’d decked him in Mementos. Same messy hair covering half his face. Same phony glasses. He’s seen Kurusu in his apron before, and there’s nothing tantalizing about it, but for some reason right now, the entire scene makes his mouth go dry. </p><p>“Hey,” is the entirety of his greeting, delivered with a casual wave and an expression of… is that relief? </p><p>“Took you long enough.” There’s not nearly as much ire in his voice as he intends, and he channels that irritation into smiling so hard it makes his cheeks ache. </p><p>Kurusu hops off the stool and, with a little bow and a sweeping gesture of his arm, invites him to sit. “Then let me make it up to you by being a good host.” He stays like that until Akechi relents and takes a step towards the proffered seat, then turns and dives over an empty spot on the counter, landing perfectly. It was a stupid and pointless way to show off, and Akechi almost misses when he tries to sit down because, yes, it’s ridiculous, but it’s also <em>captivating</em>. He’s twisting a lock of his black hair between two fingers, shadow almost hiding the dusting of pink across his cheeks, and that fire threatens to start again somewhere around the base of his spine. </p><p><em> This was a terrible idea</em>. </p><p>“So, uh. I was experimenting with blends recently,” Kurusu says, slipping back into his usual casual demeanor. Akechi already misses that little blush. What could he do to make that happen again, or leave him completely red in the face? The idea of embarrassing him terribly appeals, but every option that sneaks into his head only serves to make him feel hotter as well. “Akechi?” </p><p>“Yes, yes, you were talking about the blend you’d chosen for me, right?” </p><p>“Right. I know you told me you aren’t fond of sweet things. I'm still devastated to have found that out, by the way. Made a mess of the grill trying to make pancakes once. Uh, anyway, I think you will enjoy this. It is a bit sweet, but like a rich and smoky caramel with a bitter, woody undercurrent. Something about it made me think of you.” </p><p>“You’re not wrong about the bitter part. I hope it wasn’t my hair that made you think of caramel. That’s a terribly sappy analogy, you know.” </p><p>“Ah. Maybe? Now that you mention it. Sorry.” </p><p><em> There it is again. </em> He’d half expected Kurusu to offer to suck his dick the second he walked in here, but all that swagger from the other night had been expended in his leap over the counter, it seems. This was an amusing side to his rival. “No need to apologize. I’m sure it will be delicious.” He makes sure to draw out that last word ever so slightly, curling it into almost a hiss. It had the exact intended effect, causing Kurusu’s hand to shake as he pours boiling water. Not enough to spill, but enough to throw him off. <em> Wait. Is that why Kurusu has been hitting on him? To unsettle him and make him question himself? He’d seen that painfully honest look in his eyes last night, but he’s still a Trickster. </em> </p><p>And either way, from the smirk that the blushing Kurusu wore, he’d just encouraged it. </p><p>Akira smiles brightly, putting on an air of being composed once more. “I’ll do my best. How did your interview go today, Akechi-kun?” </p><p>He blinks once from the whiplash of being pulled from his thoughts. “Insipid.” </p><p>“That bad, huh? What did they ask you about?”<br/>
<br/>
“The Phantom Thieves and my investigation, what else?” </p><p>The other leans in close with one elbow resting on the counter. “Oh, was it a segment about crime?”<br/>
<br/>
His interview is very high on the list of things he never wanted to talk about, but since they’re here, he might as well rip off the bandage. “No, Kurusu, it was a gossip show for younger women. They crafted an amusing narrative about us being star-crossed rivals, destined to marry.” </p><p>Goro’s instinct for fuckery is triggered by the look in Kurusu’s eyes, so he almost expects what’s coming, but it pisses him off anyway.</p><p> “Oh, that’s what the survey was about!” </p><p>Akechi’s arm slams into the counter. “You were watching it? Then why ask about it?”</p><p>“I just wanted to hear about it from you. She really grilled you, huh?” </p><p>Okay, this game ceased to be fun when turned back on him. Seething, he picks up the empty mug in front of him and grips the handle with no particular intention in mind, but he feels better being armed. </p><p>“What did she call us? The Prince and the Thief?” </p><p>There’s a blur of red in his vision — He’s standing now, holding a fistful of Kurusu’s apron, his other wrist immobile in the guy’s grip, mug unbroken and rocking to a halt on the counter. His jaw aches from gritting his teeth as he tries to yank his arm back to no avail, Kurusu's wearing an obnoxiously calm expression and <em>oh </em>he wants to tear it off his face and dig his nails into the remains. “Hey, no damaging Leblanc property, Prince.”</p><p>“Call me that again, trash,” he growls, shaking Kurusu by his apron hard enough to make his head loll around, his hair covering everything on his face but his smile. “You think it's fun seeing me embarrassed on live TV?” </p><p>And his feet are moving against his will to keep him from toppling as Kurusu walks him towards the end of the counter by the TV. Was this where he watched the interview? In front of Sojiro and any customers who bothered haunting this hole in the wall? “Not particularly. I told you I didn’t like to see you suffer.” </p><p>Suffering. What other word is there for this feeling — trapped in Kurusu’s orbit, burning for another brawl, yearning to tear him apart. “Then let fucking go of me!” </p><p>“But this is fun,” drawls Akira, pulling up Akechi’s arm to avoid knocking over the glassware on the counter. </p><p>“Fuck you!” </p><p>They’re at the end of the counter now, nothing separating them but air and some kind of static buzz that could just be in his head. Unfathomably, Kurusu throws his back against the wall next to the TV and <em>yanks </em> Akechi in so close that his next words fan over his face in a coffee-scented haze. “Fuck me yourself, <em> Prince </em>.” </p><p>His mind screams in a hateful, crimson second of pure panic and instinct until it catches up to what's happening. Goro doesn't know if he moved or if he let Kurusu pull him in or if they both succumbed to some force outside themselves. All he knows is that his hand is still twisted in Kurusu's apron, unwilling, unable to let go, like he'll drown if he does. He's never kissed or been kissed before, and it feels like fighting for his life — like Akira is the sole source of his breath, the only sane thing in a mad world.</p><p>Distantly he can hear the droning of the television. The hypnotic lull gives him something to latch onto that isn't the little wet sounds of their lips meeting and parting, of Akira's… <em> oh god, now he really is drowning and burning all at once </em> … of Akira's shameless moan when their lips part and tongues begin to tangle together without hesitation. His arm is freed and the hand now at the base of his skull pulls him into a new angle that lets him delve even deeper into Kurusu's hot mouth. There's still one thing between them that's now jabbing him in the face, and he pulls away, breathing hard, surprised at how husky his voice sounds when he tells Akira that his glasses are annoying. </p><p>With no hesitation, Akira tears them off his face, a familiar move with his mask no doubt. Flames roar to life within him to meet that of the other, because he's seen that move dozens of times, and he can now admit it's fucking hot, more so because he was removing that small barrier between them. His tongue is working its way between Akira's lips again as the glasses clatter to the floor somewhere behind them. </p><p>The sheer, feral eagerness of his partner is finally what breaks his silence, moaning against the other's lips. The sound, his own loss of control, should make him cringe but with the way it spurs on Akira to new levels of delicious aggression, leaves him unable to care about sounding weird or embarrassing. </p><p>He still needs more of this. Letting his free hand — he still refuses to let go of his apron even if his arm is crushed between them and losing feeling — roam, his fingers dig into Akira's shoulder, down along the curve of his muscular back. He remembers the rush he felt just last night watching him prep for his trick shot, and now that lovely vista is here under his hands. </p><p>Their bodies shift, and he ends up with his thigh between Kurusu's legs. Another rolling wave of heat bowls through him as Goro can now feel what he’s doing to him. He presses upward experimentally and Kurusu severs their kiss to drool out a moan between panting breaths. <em> God</em>. <em> He's </em>doing this to Akira. <em> He's </em>turning him into a needy mess. There it is — his prize — but his blush is made even more lovely with his lips pink and slightly swollen. </p><p>Akira squirms against his thigh but keeps stopping like he won’t commit to what he wants. <em> All talk, then? </em> It’s irritating, and Goro wants to see how badly he’ll come undone with some encouragement. He brings the hand on his back down to grip him by his belt, taking control of his movements, forcing him to grind against his thigh. “Is that what you wanted, Kurusu?” </p><p>“Nng, yes,” comes his breathless reply. Not that Goro is doing much better because <em> fuck, this feels good. </em>Kurusu, his rival, falling apart in his hands, his own dick getting only a fraction of the attention it needs from an occasional extra enthusiastic press from Akira, but it’s enough to drive him mad. </p><p>Both of them are panting, Akira letting out the occasional whimper or other delightfully lewd sounds, when a look of panic supplants his blissed-out expression. “G-Goro, downstairs. Bugged.” He doesn’t let up on his grip on Akira or give him any slack in the pace he’s set, grinning while he waits for the other to continue. “Futaba’s probably… ah! Listening…” </p><p>“Let her hear us,” he growls in return. Akira gives him the most terribly boyish, petulant pout. “Then be quiet.” He leans in for another kiss to help him obey the command, but Akira turns away. </p><p>“I… don’t want to be quiet.” </p><p>Fitful wings of some unseen thing flutter within the fire that’s been slowly consuming him. “You’re impossible,” Goro mutters back, not wanting to acknowledge what that irrational sentiment means and how much it meant <em>to him.</em> <em>Akira wants me to make him loud, to scream my name. </em>My <em>name. </em>But if he takes him upstairs, there’s no promise they’ll both be able to break past their masks again like this.</p><p>In a whisper of breath, Akira offers one more retort. “Morgana’s probably with her too.” </p><p>Imagining Morgana listening to them makes his stomach curdle. He really doesn’t want to stop this and risk this being the end but his logic is completely overruled by urges beyond his control. Never letting go of Akira’s apron, he growls and drags him up the stairs, garnering no complaints from the other. Once there, he tugs on the garment again, giving Akira a meaningful look. His eyes grow wide, and he hastily reaches around behind him to untie it. The second he’s done, Goro pulls it over his head and throws it in a corner of the room. Akira looks like he’s been caught in a windstorm, from his hair to his still-wide pupils, and the neck of his long-sleeved shirt pulled to the side revealing his collarbones and a bit of shoulder. His heart thumps at the sight. </p><p>He fears by letting go of that connection, he’s brought an end to things all too quickly, but Akira closes the space between them, fumbling at Goro’s jacket buttons while kissing him feverishly. Between his dizzy head and Akira’s manhandling, he feels like he’s going to fall. Where do hands even go…? No, they go <em> wherever I damn well please! </em> First order of business... he pushes Akira backward and sets to work on his buttons. Despite still wearing his gloves — they feel like his last defense, he’s not ready for that yet — he’s got his coat undone in seconds and on the floor, leaving him in his white button-up shirt and sweater vest. </p><p>Losing sight of Akira for even half a second proves dangerous. He’s… unfathomable. Now on the far side of the room standing closer to the bed, if a futon on a stack of crates could be called that. He half wonders if it would even survive... That’s getting way ahead of things, though. Small as it is the distance between himself and the stairs feels like a yawning void. He turns his back on it and closes the distance between him and Akira. </p><p>Akira takes his hands, eyes hooded, gaze achingly soft. "Akechi-kun…"</p><p>"Why so formal now?" </p><p>"I don't know…" he trails off. Akira is pulling on him again until Goro leans forward precariously. With no other choice, he takes a stumbling step forward closer to the bed — surely Akira's eventual goal and where they were bound to end up eventually. Why is it so hard to fight this? Why doesn’t he want to? It’s as though he has no substance except for where Akira touches him. </p><p>It's still so hard to understand, even when the truth shines in Akira’s eyes... "What...do you want from me?" </p><p>"Anything you'll give me." … How can he deny an honest thief?</p><p>He allows himself to be guided to Akira’s bed, each step in their brief dance echoing through the attic. The crates beneath the mattress creak concerningly but it feels solid enough when he sits. The distance between them is fragile as they cant slightly towards one another. He wants to kiss him again so he doesn’t have to see that striking honesty, to think about it. Instinct is so much simpler than emotion. But he can’t escape the feeling that something profound is about to happen, even more than his first kiss or this beautiful, stupid, brilliant boy offering his heart up in sacrifice. </p><p>Now he’s fidgeting with Akechi’s hands, running a finger along one gloved palm, tracing the seams. His focus is absolute, his breathing deep and slow while he explores. His touches are muted by the veil of leather between them, but it still shakes Akechi to the core. He feels so unreasonably exposed, every spotlight on him, every eye turned to him. When Akira turns his hand over and works his cold fingers into the back of Akechi’s glove, Goro feels like <em>prey</em>. His heart pings about in his chest, telling him to flee. </p><p>“Is this okay?” </p><p>How can he be so thoughtful when he’s <em>murdering </em>him? “It’s fine,” he lies. <em> Of course, it’s fine. Stop overreacting. </em></p><p>Goro sucks in a breath through his teeth when a draft grazes his palm. He’s shaking hard enough that Akira pulls his attention from his task and looks up at him. “I’m fine!” he snaps, locking his eyes firmly on the window beyond Akira’s wild black hair. That hand is left to rest on Akira’s knee — he can feel his warmth through the fabric of his pants — while he works at the other glove. Focusing on the view outside helps mitigate the shock to his senses, lets him pretend to keep a hold on his dignity. Barren trees and power lines sway in a dim pool of streetlight, and his breathing slows to match them. </p><p>
  <em> Think of the cold. Think of the winter night that will eat you back up as soon as you leave this place for the night when he’s done with you. Don’t get attached. To this. To him.  </em>
</p><p>It’s too late. Task complete, Akira takes Goro’s hands in his and raises them to his burning cheeks, lacing their fingers together. Eyes closed, lips parted, Akira nuzzles against each palm in turn. The absolute <em>reverence </em> Akira shows is too much - Goro’s head feels like it will float away. Grey eyes meet his, drenching him in a look of devastating seduction as Akira turns and drags his lips over Goro’s palm. </p><p>What feels like a scream erupts in his chest but escapes him as a whimper. Akira begins kissing his hand in earnest, soft lips nipping at the base of each finger, in the tender wells there. Tongue exploring the spaces between them. He can’t bear it. The pressure building in him is too much and he wants… he wants <em>everything all at once.  </em></p><p>He steals his hands back from Akira and tears his vest over his head — <em> needed to cool off, needed to be closer </em> - and shoves the other boy to the bed and follows him down. It’s only the dismayed widening of Akira’s eyes that makes Goro realize he’s panting over him like a starving creature, a problem he solves by kissing him. Oh, he’d already missed this. It felt like hours had passed since Akira had lured him into pinning him against the wall. Fingers dig into his shoulder and the small of his back, holding him firmly in place. Akira whines and squirms beneath him. <em> So this is how he likes it </em>. </p><p>Goro slides one arm up along the bed and buries his fingers in the other’s hair. It’s softer than it looks but exactly as <em> grippable </em> . He gathers up a handful and tugs lightly. The effect is instant, with Akira moaning into his mouth. The hands on his back retreat and begin fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. <em> Successfully, this time, </em> he thinks. But his thoughts evaporate again when Akira’s nimble fingers possessively dance over his chest. “K-kurusu,” he moans into the other’s mouth. </p><p>“Goro… please,” whines Akira, who shifts under him until he’s rutting against Goro’s thigh again. </p><p>“Tch, so needy.” </p><p>Akira lifts his hips and rocks against Goro’s cock. He’s careless about it and it fucking hurts. “I can… feel how hard you are too so shut up.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Something like the red haze from earlier creeps up in his skull, and his mouth moves before his brain can catch up. “Are you going to do something about it other than jamming your knee into my dick?” </p><p>He has no chance to regret his words if he even could at this point. Akira pushes himself off the bed, bringing Goro up with him. Black hair tickles his cheek when Akira goes in for the kill, sending him reeling with searing kisses along his jaw and down to his neck. Fingers trail over his chest in meandering paths, and he can't keep track of everything happening to him. It all blends together into blinding madness. He’s spacing out hard, delirious with pleasure, when a tugging at his waist brings him back to reality. “Is this alright?” The question comes as a breath against the shell of his ear, lips teasing over its sensitive curves and making him shiver.</p><p>“Get on with it!” He cringes at the ire in his own voice and lets out a huff. “Rather, I’ll tell you if you try something I don’t want.” </p><p>“Thank you,” whispers Akira, kissing him on the cheek. </p><p>Goro can’t help laughing. It’s more of a pressure release than mockery, and from Akira’s smile, he understands. He leans back on one arm to make Akira’s task easier. With his free hand, he runs his fingers through the other’s unruly locks, a casual gesture, but meant to ensure he knows he’s… that they’re good. It feels more than strange to have someone else undoing his belt, but he doesn’t mind. He’s still warm and loopy and frankly, his pants have become far too restrictive. </p><p>And he’s about to start thinking too much again while he toes off his shoes, about how quickly things escalated, that his <em>rival </em> , if that term even means anything anymore, is… <em> oh fuck. </em>He’s kissing his way along Goro’s shoulder, to the well of his throat while tentatively gliding a hand over Goro’s clothed erection. Akira moans against him as the hand in his hair unconsciously starts to push him further down. With a muffled clank, his belt is undone, and he chokes on his next breath as the hand between his legs is gone, but only so Akira can work at first the button, and then the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistline of Goro’s pants and glances up at him for confirmation. Goro nods, probably more times than necessary, causing pinpricks of light to flare in his vision for a moment. </p><p>“I’ll uh, need your help.” </p><p>The words barely make sense until Akira tugs at his pants again. <em> Oh. Right. </em> Lifting his hips off the bed, he gives Akira the space and permission he needs. He’s glad for the other's boldness, and now he’s on Akira Kurusu’s bed wearing nothing but socks and his undone shirt. And it’s… fine. Terrifying. Surreal. </p><p>He must have been spacing out again because Akira has to cup his chin to make him look up into his eyes. Silent consent passes between them, anticipation brewing low in his belly. Akira smiles at him again, mouthing something unintelligible before taking up Akechi’s lips again. This time it’s less frantic. It’s languorous and sweet, coaxing up a fire within him that starts at the base of his spine and creeps out through him from there. When Akira slides his palm along the underside of Goro’s cock, at last, he’s rewarded with a moan that oozes over their entwining tongues. With a loose grip, he sets a slow pace to match the work of his lips. </p><p>This is a glorious new hell that he's burning in. Here's the man whose downfall he’d carefully planned, now dedicated heart and soul to his pleasure. His kiss conveys depths of emotion too massive to comprehend and delicate enough to slip through his fingers. But if, after damn near twenty-four hours of teasing he doesn't pick up the pace Akechi is going to slam him into the floor and indelicately pound him into oblivion. </p><p>Using the hand tangled in Akira's hair, he holds him in place and breaks the kiss. Akira's whine gives voice to Goro's despair at losing that precious contact as well, but dammit, he has <em>needs.  </em></p><p>When he utters Kurusu's name, it's in a low and warning tone that makes them both tremble, and Akira's hand freezes. He's thought about this enough and now here's Akira practically begging for the opportunity. How could he turn him down? He imagines himself being bolder, issuing a simple demand — <em>'suck' </em>— but he's… not there yet. He doesn’t even know if this would feel as good as it sounds. Gentle guidance then. "If you're willing…," he asks, lightly pressing down on Akira's head while bucking his hips upward. </p><p>Akira flashes him a triumphant smirk. "You have no idea." He yanks off his long-sleeved shirt and settles down on his knees between Goro's legs, and that sight is enough to make him feel like a god. <em> How is it that this can be a victory for both of us? There's no help to be found for either of us fools, is there? Not beyond each other and this strange sacrament. </em></p><p>In this evening of many discoveries, Goro learns one thing he’s not fond of and it almost earns Akira a knee to the face when he doesn’t stop running ticklish touches over Goro’s legs after the first irritated grunt. “If you keep that up, I’m going to leave you there on the floor and handle this myself.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Akira laughs with zero repentance. “S’cute though.” </p><p>Backhanded compliment or not, it sets his cheeks alight — an impressive feat since he’s already drenched in fire. And he wonders how Akira’s gotten under his skin so quickly but… that’s a lie. He only flinches slightly when Akira hooks one arm under his thigh and his breath fans over Goro’s aching cock. Watching it twitch and bob centimeters from the boy’s face is unbearable. The urges to demand compliance, to shut his eyes, to flee, and never look back all war within him but he endures. </p><p>It's worth the effort to see the staggering focus in his eyes when Akira curls his fingers around the base of his length to angle it towards his waiting mouth. His lids flutter shut and he parts his lips, angelic and whorish in equal measures. </p><p>"I can't believe I finally get to taste you."</p><p>"Finally?! You…"</p><p>Akira cuts him off, leading with his tongue, running it along the underside of his weeping head, and Goro’s eyes slam shut as he throws his head back with a silent scream. He’s gulping in air, feeling like he can’t possibly get enough of it. Liquid heat engulfs him, along with the constant wriggling thrum of Akira’s tongue. Goro’s arm gives out and he falls back against the bed, only his fingertips still feathering through Akira’s hair.  His other hand scrabbles at the bedding, alternately gripping and splaying like his nervous system is electrocuting him from within.</p><p>And he’s sure that he’s dying, conscious thought slipping away, clinging to the precipice of oblivion. His body convulses beyond his control, hips jerking up so he can delve further into Akira’s mouth even when he’s buried to the hilt in him. He forces his eyes open to confirm he’s still alive - wondering briefly at the smattering of tiny glowing stars clinging to the attic’s ceiling beams. </p><p>He catches Akira just as his eyes flick open, blissful, pleading, a single tear clinging to a lash and that undoes him. With a strangled, wordless shout he folds in on himself, flailing fingers finding Akira’s head to hold him in place as he comes down the boy’s throat. His pitiful wheezing breaths and stuttered moans filling the room are the only things that convince him this is real as hot muscles contract rhythmically around him to eagerly swallow down every drop. Akira lets him go just as darkness wells up in his vision and he’s sure he’s narrowly escaped passing out, locking his gaze on the star-speckled ceiling beams so he doesn’t succumb. </p><p>There’s a heavy thump — probably Akira falling back to rest after being on his knees, Goro thinks, a lazy smile spreading over his face. As their breathing slows and silence creeps back into the room, he’s taken by the fear that he should say <em>something </em>but nothing he can think of is right or enough. And… oh. This has all been rather one-sided, hasn’t it? Not that the other complained but… he’s struck with an overwhelming urge to remedy that. </p><p>He groans when he sits up, fighting against exhaustion and muscles that take their sweet time responding. Akira’s sitting on the floor, arms propped behind him, legs haphazardly crossed, a goofy look of contentment on his face. Goro stands and reaches a hand down to him, laughing softly. “Come here.” </p><p>“Was that good?” he slurs out, watery hope alighting in his eyes. </p><p><em> Why does he have to ask such things? </em>Goro fixes his gaze on the messy desk in the corner of the room, flicking his hand to reaffirm his offer. A deadpan as he can manage, he replies, “We’ll never know. You destroyed the evidence.” </p><p>Akira boggles at him for a moment before doubling over in laughter. He’s still snickering when he takes Goro’s hand, pulling hard against his weight so it really does take the both of them to get him back on his feet. With Akira standing before him like this, lips pink and glistening, eyes soft and full of adoration, he feels some of the chains of denial slough off his heart. Goro runs a hand down the side of Akira’s face, marveling at how lovely he is right now, and always has been. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head towards the bed. “Lay down.” </p><p>Dismay is not the reaction he expected. “You’re not leaving, are you?” </p><p>“That’s not happening.” He gently swipes his thumb along Akira’s lower lip, then dips in for a featherlight kiss. “I don’t leave my debts unsettled.” </p><p>Akira <em>melts</em>, ducking his head, but not enough to hide the deep blush that floods his cheeks. “You don’t owe me anything. I’ve been wanting to do that for… a while.” </p><p>"Pervert." He lifts Akira’s chin with one finger and issues his request — <em> command </em>— again. “Lay down.” </p><p>It’s hard not to laugh at how quickly he scrambles to comply. Goro tips his head again, this time asking for some space alongside him since Akira’s landed at the edge of the bed for some reason. Or, maybe he understood the intent but had forgotten that Goro’s left-handed. He lets the tangled wreck of his shirt fall to the floor before laying down next to him, propped up on his side. Gravity pulls them in closer and with no warning their bodies meet. It should be a simple thing, but the warmth of Akira’s chest against his, their legs tangling together naturally… his throat constricts. <em> No, you are NOT crying here. </em> Whatever other lines have been crossed tonight, he’s <em>not </em>going to break down just because someone’s willing to… </p><p>The shame of that impending tidal wave burns through him, reigniting the ever-present pyre within him. For once though, he can channel it into something <em>interesting, </em> given how Akira’s responded to certain things so far. Before he hands the reins over to that part of himself… “Akira,” <em> god, look at him ready to snap to attention, from only this. </em> “Akira. If I do anything you don’t like, you damn well better tell me.”</p><p>He nods back eagerly. “I will. Promise.” </p><p>“Good.” That’s enough for him or will have to be. He grips Akira’s chin and uses it to pull him into a merciless kiss. A delicious shudder runs through Akira’s body, letting Goro feel each set of muscles responding to him. He lets his hand wander down the boy’s chest, tracing the hard planes that had been hidden from him up until now. When he pauses over Akira’s heart, he can feel it’s steady beat grow faster when he kisses him in the ways he’s learning he likes best. It’s intoxicating, and he’s barely done anything yet. Unraveling Akira completely… Now that’s a worthy goal. </p><p>He releases his chin and trails his hand down to Kurusu’s neck, feeling that vein pulse under his touch. Had he truly desired to kill his rival, there’s no better chance than now when every little touch from Goro has him begging for more, and he’s not sure which aspect is the one making him feel obscenely powerful and at least half-hard again but he’ll take either over the weakness that struck him moments ago. </p><p>This wasn’t supposed to be about him, but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it, of course... <em> That’s really kind of the point of all this, isn’t it? Or would you deny yourself even that much? </em> </p><p>Akira pulls back from the kiss to seemingly catch his breath and Goro wonders if he’ll ever tire of seeing him a blushing disaster like this. Even with sweat plastering his hair to his face and dripping down his temples — maybe more so — he’s ridiculously pretty. </p><p>“Goro… you don’t have to be gentle with me.” </p><p>That simple statement bores straight to his nervous system and any remaining reservations he might have clung to flee like rats on a sinking ship. “That makes me <em> very </em> happy to hear, you know that?” That’s all the warning Akira gets before Goro shoves his head to the side so he can <em>taste </em>that spot he’s had his eyes on. His tongue laves over Akira’s jugular, the vein throbbing against his lips. He can’t help <em>growling </em>as he seeks out a less dangerous place to sink his teeth into <em>his </em>rival, who moans and squirms when Goro bites into the meat of his shoulder. </p><p>He’s never realized until now how entwined his rage is with lust until this second. God, <em> I want to taste your blood, devour you, make you mine! </em> Though he lets go well shy of bloodletting, the skin under his teeth thrums with life, salty bordering on copper. He pulls back to admire his work - a reddening mark against flushed loveliness. He’s <em> marked </em> Akira. Ephemeral as his claim is, it’s enough for him. For now. </p><p>“Fuck, Goro… yes. Claim me!” </p><p>Akira’s stuttered plea goes straight to Goro’s dick. As much as he wants to comply, and take him right here and now, he’s not ready for that. Not that he was ready for any of this despite how badly he needed it and still does. The thought doesn’t disgust him, rather it scares him. Too intimate. Too… everything. So he compromises by sucking on the skin below Akira’s collarbones, reveling in his needy little whimpers. He trails his hand down the boy’s belly, feeling the ripple of muscle under his smooth skin, and down until he reaches the hem of his pants. Experimentally, he swipes a finger along the space between cloth and flesh. The reaction is instant.</p><p>“Goro! Please!” </p><p>“Mmm, I love how impatient you are,” Goro purrs back. “I’m getting impatient too though.” With a few deft movements, he’s got Akira’s pants undone. “Take them off,” he orders, sitting up enough to give Akira his arm back. He obeys immediately, wriggling out of his pants and underwear at once and falling back to the bed. It’s hard to imagine that this naked, lust addled boy desperately pawing at him now is the same person as <em> Joker</em>, but both sides are just as attractive, he admits. “Look at you. A needy helpless mess,” he coos fondly. </p><p>Akira grabs for his shoulder and he dodges on instinct. His chest tightens with guilt at his accidental rejection and vows to make amends. “It’s a good look,” he says, just catching the cute look of surprise that flashes over Akira’s face before he’s kissing him again. He wastes no time, sliding his hand down Akira’s chest, into the tempting dip where his thigh meets his hip, and <em>oh </em>it’s so sweet. He doesn’t linger there long, encouraged by Akira’s greedy tongue and a subtle buck of his hips. </p><p>It’s… weird, feeling another guy’s cock in his hand. It’s not so different from his own, obviously. Little thicker, maybe. Until he learns what Akira likes, he slicks his palm a little with his precum and settles into his usual rhythm. He leans back a bit so he can watch Akira’s face, gauge his reactions. The boy’s eyes flutter open and meet his and the bed, the world falls out from underneath him. “I…can’t believe this is happening,” he whispers, awestruck. </p><p>“Goro,” gasps Akira. “You’re really here with me.” </p><p>“Yeah.” It’s not what he wants to say but the words are too big to make it through his ragged throat. </p><p>Akira sighs and tips his head back, letting Goro admire the curve of his jaw, the pale expanse of his throat. “So… good.” </p><p><em> Good. </em> Goro remembers last night, and the shame he felt at getting off to Akira’s imagined praise, but <em>this </em>is different. “Oh fuck, Goro! I’m going to... “ </p><p><em> This </em>is true power. To hell with everything else. “That’s it. Let go. Come for me, Akira.” </p><p>Tongues entwined, bodies tangled, he gives in and lets himself melt into the other. He picks up the pace because he <em>needs </em>to hear and feel this right now. His rival, his partner, his lover arcs off the bed and into his hand in graceful disarray, painting them both in his hot release. </p><p>Vaguely, Goro wonders if anyone would be awake and close enough to hear Akira shouting his name, like this. Maybe he should worry about it because part of his popularity comes from looking innocent and available and he knows it. But dammit, he’s never had anything of his own in life — and he knows he doesn’t <em>own </em> Akira, and there’s every chance that this will fall to pieces the second it’s faced with Shido’s reality - let him just have this moment. </p><p>Gathering him up in his arms, he pulls Akira to his chest, both heaving and panting together. Akira wiggles free of his grasp to look up at him, transfixed. “Goro, I…” </p><p>“Hush. Don’t say it. Not until this is over.” </p><p>“We’ll get through it, I swear. Tell me what you need, and I’ll be by your side.” </p><p>“Not tonight.”</p><p>Akira shifts against him. He’s so warm, like a living furnace. When he glances up at the window and thinks about the winter night that awaits him when he leaves… maybe he can get away with living this lie for a little longer. </p><p>“Goro. You’re still hard. I can take care of you. Anything you want.”  </p><p>He brushes back some of the raven fringe from Akira’s forehead and kisses him there, then another soft kiss for the bruise under his eye. “What you’ll do is sleep.” The arms around him tighten, and Akira lets out the smallest whimper. “No. I won’t leave unless you tell me to.” </p><p>“Then, please. Stay.” </p><p>“Mmhm. I’m going to get cleaned up and turn out the light but I’ll be right back.” He looks around the room and spots a packet of tissues. Once he’s sorted, he tosses it to Akira, who fumbles the catch. Having stepped around the mess that is his clothing, he realizes that it’s the only thing he has to wear when he leaves tomorrow. The plan is to get out of here before Sakura-san opens the shop but he still doesn’t need to be seen walking home with rumpled clothing. He shakes it out as best he can and lays it over the back of Akira’s worn sofa. </p><p>He takes another look at the groggy boy waiting for him in bed before he turns out the light. That image is warm enough to get him through any winter’s night. They settle in together with Akira’s head resting in the crook of Goro’s arm. He can feel that one of his socks is about to come off, dangling uncomfortably around his ankle. On impulse, he removes it and his other more cooperative sock using his toes. They’ll be a pain in the ass to find tomorrow, but whatever. There. Now he can say that he's been completely naked around another person and remind himself that he survived it.</p><p>Quiet descends upon them — nothing but their soft breathing and a fitful winter that fails to claw its way into this warm sanctuary — leaving Goro with his thoughts. He thinks about his phone laying in the pocket of his pants some feet away. How can he escape Shido’s tightening orbit? Bile rises in his throat when he thinks about it. Revenge is all he’s made for, right? He’d always figured he’d disappear one way or another once he was done with the bastard. </p><p>Akira lets out a sleepy little sigh and snuggles closer, trailing his hand over Goro’s chest, where his heart does an odd little caper. He can no longer deny those words he’d prevented Akira from speaking, nor that he’s felt that way for some time. His mind was just… shaped the wrong way to process it, and maybe it still is, but he can only find out for certain by forging a new path. </p><p>He just hopes he’s strong enough for it. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Sojiro Sakura stands before the door to Leblanc with a vaguely uneasy feeling. Something’s not quite right. As soon as he opens the door, Kurusu’s cat bolts in and rushes for the stairs, stopping at the first step where he posts himself like a guardian. He swears that the cat is smarter than some of the people he’s met, so he lets him be. </p><p>He glances up at the ceiling, wondering if Kurusu is going to be late to wake up again. What’s gotten into the guy lately? Better not be getting into trouble. It’s suspicious enough that he comes home so late these days. </p><p>Once behind the counter, he catches light glinting off something on the floor and reaches down to pick it up. Akira’s glasses? He frowns at the black plastic frames in his hands and glances at the cat on the stairs. “Hey, cat,” he starts, noticing he’s picked up the kid’s habit of talking to the furball and stops. Instead, he takes a few steps towards the stairs, only for Morgana to hiss at him. “Alright, fine. How about you go wake up the kid then?” </p><p>He swears the cat shook his head to say ‘no.’</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Goro opens his eyes and starts at the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. His mind spins, disoriented and on the verge of full panic. At least until an arm tightens around his midriff and the furnace of a boy behind him nuzzles into his neck. <em> Oh. That wasn’t a dream. </em> Heart beating fast, he has a terrible feeling that he’s overstayed his welcome. “Hnn, what time is it?” </p><p>“Dunno,” Akira replies from his groggy haze, reaching over Goro to grab his phone off the shelves, molding himself to his back. <em> So warm. So real. </em>“Damn, my phone’s dead.” </p><p>The worries he’d almost tamped down escape, trampling over what's left of his contentment. He didn’t charge his phone last night either and if he misses a call from Shido he’s done. He swears and pushes Akira off of him, ignoring his whines. <em> Pants. Where are my pants? </em></p><p>“Mmm, nice view. I could get used to this.” </p><p>“You could get up and help me find my shit if you’re awake enough to hit on me,” Goro whispers back loudly. He’s pretty sure he just heard a voice from downstairs and that’s not helping the acid brewing in his guts. Finally, he spots them peeking out from under his coat where he’d laid everything on the couch the night before. His phone’s still alive, barely. No new messages. However... “What time does Sojiro normally come in to open the cafe?” </p><p>Akira rolls over to the edge of the bed, one arm hanging almost to the floor. “Seven-ish. Why?” </p><p>Goro thrusts his phone into his face, holding it sideways so he can see. “Oh shit.” </p><p>“Oh shit is right,” Goro hisses, already dancing on one leg to pull up his boxer briefs. “Are you going to make me leave through the window? I can’t stay here until Sakura-san leaves. I’m barely going to make it in on time as it is, and I <em> need </em> a shower.” </p><p>“No. I’m not going to treat you like a dirty secret. We get dressed, and go downstairs together.” </p><p>He pauses in zipping up his pants and stares at Akira. “Are you one hundred percent sure about that? What if Sojiro kicks you out?” </p><p>“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. You deserve nothing less.” </p><p>He turns away to finish dressing, not looking back even when he hears the floorboards creak under Akira’s bare feet. <em> He’s unreasonable. One handjob and he thinks he’s in love, willing to throw his stupid life away. </em> There’s an ache in his jaw and his throat constricts. <em> Somehow he has everything I’ve ever wanted, and he’s about to throw it in the trash. For me. </em> Fully dressed from the ankles up, at least, teeth clenched together in a frustrated grimace, he glances back at Akira. </p><p>How can such a monster look so innocent? With those unspoken words last night, he’s sunk his teeth into Goro’s neck, shaken out all his insecurities so they are laying there on the bare floor. Goro shoves past him to riffle through the sheets to find his socks. Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I…”</p><p>Twisting out of Akira’s grasp, he moves to the couch to finish getting clothed. “No. Not another word.” </p><p>“Fine. No words then.” Next thing he knows he’s got his face pressed against Akira’s midriff as Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders. Goro’s holding him too, for dear fucking life, squeezing a sharp breath from both of them. For all his efforts to fight it, one tear shakes itself free, rolling down his cheek. He burns with shame, as he always does when he cries, but underneath that, there’s a lightness he’s not familiar with. </p><p>When Akira finally releases him, he pulls him down for a kiss. “Alright. Together.” The absolute relieved glee on the boy’s face makes him breathe out a laugh. <em> At least for the moment, I can pretend this will work out and not bring him down too. </em></p><p>Finally dressed and made as presentable as possible with each other’s help, as Goro reaches over to tuck a stray strand of Akira’s hair back into the rest of the mess, they nod to each other and take the stairs. </p><p>“I had to sleep on Sojiro’s couch!” </p><p>Akira glances back at Goro, who shrugs. “Uh, good morning, Morgana?” The little cat hisses at them, swiping at Akira’s ankle on his way up. </p><p>“Well,” comes Sojiro's voice like rolling thunder. “I thought I heard two sets of footsteps upstairs.” Both pause at the threshold to the cafe proper, each struggling to keep themselves together, ready for their sentencing. </p><p>There are two steaming mugs on the counter. “Coffee?” </p><p>Goro blinks at the sight and then nods. Both boys glace sidelong at each other, with Akira giving him an encouraging smile as if to say ‘<em> see? Everything’s going to work out.’ </em>He would kill a man for that confidence. </p><p>Once they are seated and silently sipping their coffee, Sojiro places his palms on the counter and looks back and forth between them. “So, the Detective Prince, huh? No wonder you never wanted my advice on talking to girls.” </p><p>Without looking up from his coffee, Goro quips, “He’s no good at talking to boys either, I’ll have you know.” </p><p>Akira’s shoulders shake, then his chest, and belly, and he’s suddenly laughing so hard his coffee sloshes over his fingers before he sets the mug down to blow on his hand. “Big,” he manages, still cracking up. “Big talk from a detective who can’t pick up on a single hint!” </p><p>“Laugh it up,” he snaps back, but he’s grinning too. He shoves Akira, not nearly hard enough to knock him off his stool. </p><p>Sojiro pushes himself back from the counter. With a dramatic rolling of his eyes, he wipes up the spilled coffee. “I should throw you out, but I did specifically state you couldn’t have any <em>girls </em>over to spend the night or for any other funny business. Don’t make a habit of this, though, or I will, you hear?” </p><p>Ears now as red as the rest of his face, Akira finally stops to catch his breath. “Thank you, Sakura-san. I mean it.” </p><p>“Thank you on my behalf as well. I don’t have room at my place for a stray.” </p><p>Joining in on their laughter, Sojiro pulls off his glasses and wipes his face with his sleeve. “Ah, young love. Are you staying for breakfast?” </p><p>Goro finishes his coffee in one long drag. When he puts the mug down, he realizes Akira is one lip wibble away from a perfect begging puppy face. “I’m sorry.” He grabs Akira’s hand under the level of the counter, giving it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “I have to leave now. Busy day. But I thank you both for your hospitality.” Akira stands when he does, hovering awkwardly by the counter. They both know he wants to leave with him, just as they both know it’s impossible. Akechi has an image to maintain, and Kurusu has a job to do. “I’ll talk to you later.” </p><p>“Have a good day, Akechi-kun!” He tucks those words from Akira into his heart, along with the pleasant jingle of the door chime as he begins his long trek back… Home doesn’t sound right, but back to the place he’s used to sleeping and waking up alone. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>“<em> Have a good day, Akechi-kun,” </em>Morgana mocks from the stool behind Akira. </p><p>Sojiro makes a shooing motion at Morgana. “Hey, get that cat out of here, would ya? My renowned philanthropy only goes so far.” </p><p>Squirming out of Akira’s grip instantly, Morgana lands on all fours on the floor and turns back to him, spitting fire. “I said, I had to sleep on Sojiro’s couch! Apologize!” </p><p>“What about Futaba?” asks a dumbfounded Akira. Usually, if he’s not here, he’s curled up at her feet. </p><p>“Oh, Futaba? She didn’t come out when I knocked on her door this morning. Something about a long night? Who knows what she was up to.” </p><p>Akira stares at Morgana as pure mortification drips down his back, pulling his shoulders down in a guilty slump. “Oh, your glasses somehow ended up back here and I almost forgot to give them back. You really should be more careful.” </p><p>“Thanks, boss,” he mutters, holding out his arm to collect them, but unwilling to make eye contact. “I’m going to uh, get ready for work.” With that he stalks to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him to wallow in bemused shame in peace. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>[At this point, the author was faced with a dilemma. Do I write several chapters of mundanity? Rewrite most of two palaces worth of content to suit this timeline? Or simply skip to the smutty bits? I hope you'll appreciate my decision.]</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>“Can you believe it? We did it! We pulled off the heist of the century.” Akira hops up on Goro’s bed, his legs tucked under him. He’s pulling boxes out of a large plastic sack, filling the room with the mingled scents of steak and decadent desserts. </p><p>Goro stands to the side and boggles at the spread, imagining all the crumbs that are about to infiltrate his bed. There wasn’t any other choice though since the table in his kitchen is too small and is accompanied by only one chair. “Don’t you think we’re celebrating a bit early? I won’t be able to relax until I hear Shido’s confession.” </p><p>“That’s why we’re here. We’ll watch it together in style.” </p><p>With another person here, his place seems too small. He glances at the plain blinds, shut tight against the outside world, the sparse decor, and the lack of any meaningful space for relaxation. “Tch. I don’t know if I would call my apartment <em> in style</em>, but as you say.” </p><p>“I meant to ask — You’re sure it’s safe for you to live here? Didn’t you say Shido was paying for it?” </p><p>Goro flicks his hand through the air to wave off his concerns. “Yes, but he pays me directly, or did, and the place is registered under a fake name so that fans can’t stalk me. Shido has a million other ways he could ruin my life, so I doubt he bothered looking for my address. With what he pays me, I could afford something much more lavish, but I never cared for the idea.” </p><p>“It’s still three times the size of my attic, easily. Besides, you’re here with me. That makes any place stylish.” </p><p>Goro rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible.” </p><p>“You love it.” </p><p>Even though Akira was playing around with him, both could feel his words getting too close to the truth, leading to an awkward silence settling over them. “Hey, I’ll uh, set up the stream. Do you want to grab plates and stuff? I don’t know your kitchen yet.”</p><p><em> Yet. </em> “Sure. I’ll be right back.” </p><p>He hadn’t realized until this moment how heavily he was relying on Akira to keep him from falling apart. Goro stands alone in his tiny kitchen with a hand over his mouth to keep himself from hyperventilating. <em> What if we failed? No, I could still find a way to slip into the Metaverse and kill Shido before he can react. For all his power, he has no way to know that I dealt the final blow to his shadow. That I let the bastard live, trusting in Akira’s justice. </em> “No,” he cries, falling to the floor on hands and knees. <em> This wasn’t the plan! This wasn’t what I was born for! All I’ve ever wanted was revenge! How do I live another way now? Is it even possible?  </em></p><p>“Oh shit, are you okay?” Akira falls to the floor next to him, one hand on his shoulder and the other carding through his hair. He wants to throw him off, feel his head crack against the tile floor, never have to drown in his <em> fucking sincerity again!  </em></p><p>But he doesn’t. He breathes through it like Akira taught him at the temple. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Repeat until the red haze fades and the whispers behind his thoughts cease. With his anger tamed, his muscles go slack, and he collapses into Akira’s arms. “Thanks. I’m alright now.”<br/>
<br/>
“Panic attack?”</p><p>“Something like that.” </p><p>Together, they help each other up and gather plates and silverware, Akira continually glancing over at him like he’s going to fall apart again at any moment. It’s annoying. And endearing. He’s not used to being doted on like this and it’s… weirdly nice. </p><p>Akira pats a spot on the bed next to him. “Come on. Let’s eat some before the conference starts. We’ve got time, and it will help settle you.” He fills one of the plates with their bounty. He’d gone for an American style feast of steak, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. Goro’s stomach growls when he takes his plate. To be fair, he hadn’t eaten all day. He’d been almost as nervous about Akira coming to his place as he’s been about the conference. </p><p>He has to force himself to take the first bite, but as the buttery steak fills his mouth with its flavorful juices, he does feel himself relax a bit. They eat most of their meal in relative silence, to the droning of the local news anchors tittering about the election, for that’s all anyone can speak about these days. </p><p>When the conference starts, Akira takes their plates and sets them on the counter. He tucks his legs under him next to Goro on the bed and takes his hand. “It will be alright. I know it.” All Goro can do is nod. This time he isn’t bolstered by the armor his anger grants. He shivers as goosebumps roll down his arms, teeth chattering out of his control. Akira wraps an arm around him, rubbing soothing circles over his back. A few moments later, Shido appears on the screen.</p><p>Suddenly he’s dropped back into his childhood, huddling on his too-large bed while that booming voice shakes the walls, closing in on him. The words are lost in a hateful roar that he can never hide from. </p><p>Then someone squeezes his hand and… right. He’s <em>not </em>alone this time. Goro glances at the sweetly smiling boy next to him and lets himself cling to Akira, focusing on his touch like it’s a lifeline. </p><p>But only a few words in, Shido’s arrogance evaporates. Seeing that bastard on the verge of tears as he confesses his crimes — not <em>all </em>of them, he notes, but most — … it’s not something he has words for. This isn’t the dramatic vengeance he’d been working towards for years. This wasn’t the justice he thought his mother deserved. Yet Shido is about to be behind bars, and Goro’s got another chance at life. </p><p>He would never have dreamt that justice could taste like Sacher torte on the tongue of the foolish boy who saved him, apricot and chocolate kisses that send him reeling. “I’m so damn proud of you for letting him live, Goro.” </p><p>It takes him a moment to recover. They hadn’t had a moment like this since that night in the cafe and he’d nearly forgotten how fuzzy and light Akira could make him feel. “Eh. Some punishments are worse than death. Don’t think of me as magnanimous.” </p><p>Akira’s hands come up to his cheeks, their warmth infusing him. This is beyond sincere — his grey eyes are brimming with… <em> love</em>. That’s the only word for it. He wants to flinch away from its brilliance, but he can’t so he instinctually deflects it with words. “Why are you looking at me like that?” </p><p>“Like what,” Akira whispers, his breath fanning over Goro’s lips. Even having just kissed him, he feels the weight of impending intimacy, and it makes him shiver. </p><p>“I-I don’t know.” </p><p>“Awe, perhaps? Goro. I can’t help myself. You’re beautiful. Terrifying. A force of nature. I’m drawn to you like nothing else. We won tonight, and I want to celebrate.” His warm fingers trail down Goro’s neck to the top button of his shirt, which he starts to undo. “With you.” </p><p>His breath quickens and heat rushes up from within him, making him sway. He’s unraveling already from Akira’s acute honesty. <em> Can I really have this?  </em></p><p>He raises trembling hands to remove Akira’s frames gently and leans away to safely deposit them on the nightstand. Akira’s already working on the second button and Goro buries his fingers in his soft raven locks, pulling him in for a searing, hungry kiss.<em> To hell with it.</em> <em>Even if it’s only temporary, this is all I want right now. I’ll figure out the rest later.</em></p><p>Goro hauls up his shirt, untucking it from his pants so Akira can free him from it entirely. In turn, he tugs at the hem of the other boy’s shirt until Akira holds up his arms so Goro can strip it off of him. The moment the shirt hits his floor, their lips meet again, hands roaming over each other’s hot skin. “Goro…,” Akira rumbles. </p><p>He can’t find it in himself to chide the other for being needy this time. Through this delicious delirium, he decides to make the next move, tugging at Akira’s belt until he leans back to make Goro’s task easier. Even now he can see the boy’s erection tenting his pants and his heart skips a solid beat. The reveal is no less intoxicating, especially when Akira’s legs fall to either side, putting him shamelessly on display. He’s torn between the instincts screaming for him to rush this and the urge to savor every inch of the amazingly soft skin under his hands. Forcing himself to slow down, he glides his palms over Akira’s hips, down his thighs, all to the backbeat of his blood roaring in his skull and Akira’s mouthwatering little moans. “Goro… I want…” </p><p>“Mmm, say it.” </p><p>“Take me. Make me yours.” </p><p>No, <em> this </em>is the most powerful he’s ever felt in his life. He looks down at Akira’s sweet blush-dusted face, his perfect kiss-bitten lips, and runs a finger along the underside of his cock, reveling in the way it instantly makes him gasp and convulse. </p><p>“N-not like that this time, please. My bag… I bought lube.” </p><p>Goro freezes as the enormity of the moment takes hold of him. </p><p>He takes a deep breath and replies with a simple, “Okay.”  </p><p>His bed creaks as he stands up. The wooden floor feels unreasonably cold against his bare feet as he plods automatically across the small room. Akira’s bag lies haphazardly by the door where it had been dropped earlier. </p><p>“It’s in the right pocket. U-under the flap.” It’s just a little thing, but being trusted to dig through his belongings like this feels so personal. He browses past a deck of playing cards and several pens before he spots the purple capped bottle and confirms he’s found what he was looking for. </p><p>Akira is still sprawled on the bed invitingly when he returns and sets the bottle on the nightstand. The question on his mind is probably moot, but he feels the need to ask anyway. He’s nervous enough that he’s half wanting an out himself. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Akira?” </p><p>“I’m sure.” </p><p>There’s no doubting his resolve. Goro just needs to find his own. He strips off the last of his clothing and mantles over Akira. At first, he’s careful not to touch him, kneeling between his legs, his arms to either side of his head. But at the first brush of Akira’s hot thighs against his own, he only wants more. Goro falls upon him, fingers tangled in raven hair, tongues swirling together. The heat of their bodies pressed so close is almost more than he can handle but he wants nothing more but to melt into Akira. </p><p>Akira breaks the kiss and smirks up at him, pushing on his chest lightly. <em> Right. </em> “Ah, hand me the bottle then,” Goro asks. He flips open the lid and lets some of it dribble out over the first few fingers of his left hand. </p><p>“Glad I’m worth using your good hand, heh.” </p><p>Goro drops the bottle and smacks his thigh lightly, for the joke and to get him to spread further. “Damn right you are.” He’s never done anything like this before, not even to himself. He wonders if Akira ever has, but the question is smothered by the thought of actually <em>saying </em>those words. He sets the bottle to the side and lazily strokes Akira’s cock a few times, swiping his thumb over the head to appreciate how excited he already is. With his other hand, he moves one finger to Akira’s tight hole, and both hold their breath as he presses in. There’s little resistance, and in moments he’s pushing in and out of him, reveling in his oozing moans. “Good so far?” </p><p>“<em> So </em> good.” </p><p>He pulls out, making sure his next finger is still slippery enough, and slides it in along with the first. Between Akira’s enthusiasm for just this and how insanely hot he is inside, Goro’s worries fade away. Fuck, he wants this. Akira’s got his head thrown back, his neck exposed, vulnerable. He’s a perfect mess with his hands fisting in the sheets and his cock twitching with Goro’s every thrust. </p><p>“Can you handle more, Akira?”</p><p>The pleasure-drunk boy doesn’t pause in his thrashing as he throws out his reply. “N-need it!” </p><p>Grinning, Goro pops the bottle open again to make sure a third finger is coated, and slides in once more, exploratory this time. There’s a certain spot he’s heard of… Akira’s spine arcs off the bed and he lets out a row of moaning curses like nothing Goro’s ever heard before, and he can’t hold back any longer. </p><p>Akira whimpers when he removes his fingers and sits up suddenly. Before Goro can pick up the bottle again, Akira’s got it in his hands. “Let me…,” He squeezes some of it into his hand and reaches between them. The cold sensation on his dick makes him jump at first, fingers digging into Akira’s shoulder as he shudders. After a few strokes, though, the lube warms up nicely and he closes his eyes, groaning in pleasure. </p><p>He's momentarily disappointed when Akira releases him, but the view is worth it. Akira, blushing profusely, even his chest is flushed, his nipples pert. He spreads his legs and lifts his ass up just so, begging to be taken. “Goro, I want you so badly..,” </p><p>“You have me, Akira.” <em> Always, </em> he adds in silence. He leans in, hoping he doesn’t fuck this up, and lines up his cock to press at Akira’s entrance. “Ready?” </p><p>Akira nods, making his wayward fringe fall over his eyes. Goro leans in and brushes it to the side before pressing into him. They both moan in tandem as Goro sinks into him bit by bit. That lightheaded feeling, like he’s going to float away, hits him in full force but the intense pleasure of Akira’s hot walls clenching around him keeps him grounded. Barely. They’re close enough to kiss and Akira sits up to take advantage of the opportunity, smiling against his lips. </p><p>He’s already sure he’s not going to last long at all, hoping the other will forgive him for his first time being so short. <em> First time of many, I’ll make sure of it. </em>He’s already beyond addicted. Starting slowly, he pulls most of the way out and glides back in. Impossibly, this feels even better. “Don’t worry about me, Goro, I’m fine. More than fine.” </p><p>“I’m… fuck. I’m more worried about myself. Not gonna last.” </p><p>“I don’t mind.” </p><p>Goro steadies himself with one shaking arm and reaches the other between them. “Well, I do.” With his hand around Akira’s dick, he starts pumping him in time with his careful thrusts. “How’s this?” He smirks to himself as Akira devolves into wordless moaning, though here and there he can catch a syllable of his name. </p><p>With a stuttered, “Fu-ck!” Akira slams his head back into the pillow, his cock pulsing in Goro’s hand. He has to pause for a moment, so he doesn’t lose it right there, still wanting to prolong this a little further. Once he’s caught his breath, he starts moving again, shallow thrusts, but still so delicious. Akira’s voice is faint when he asks, "Am I allowed to say it now?” </p><p>“... Say what?” </p><p>“That I love you.” </p><p>“O-oh, fuck.” His confession and one final plunge are all it takes. Goro grips Akira’s thighs as he fills him, body surging forth with each throb. “That... wasn’t fair, you rogue.” </p><p>“Can’t help it. It’s my nature.” </p><p>“Augh, don’t you dare laugh while I’m still inside you,” he says with a grunt, cautiously pulling out of Akira, looking in lustful fascination at the mess he’s made of the boy. Heedless of the need to clean up, he flops into Akira’s waiting arms, merely gazing at him. “Akira.” He takes a deep breath, trembling as hard as he would standing naked in the snow. “I…” </p><p>Akira rubs his back reassuringly nuzzles against his shoulder. “If it’s too hard to say, I understand. I can see it in your eyes, so it’s fine.” </p><p>He wriggles until his hands are free, bringing both up to cup Akira’s cheeks. Making absolute sure he has his attention, he takes another breath so he can say at least an approximation of what’s been lurking in his heart for what feels like ages. “I… Akira, you mean so fucking much to me. Not just because you saved me. Not just because of tonight. I’m yours, If you’ll have me, that is.” </p><p>“Of course!” cries Akira, tears already welling up in his eyes. “Of course, Goro. God. Nothing would make me happier.” </p><p>The walls he’s been building for his whole life crumble, and every soft and kind emotion in him pours forth in a great wave. This time crying doesn’t feel like a weakness but relief. Sanctuary. In time, they run out of tears. A sliver of reality sneaks into their little world — that of the aftermath of their tryst, so they leave the haven of Goro’s bed to clean up.</p><p>“What now? Shall we disappear together?” Akira asks, half-joking.</p><p>“Me? Disappear? Have you already forgotten I’m rather well known?” </p><p>“Well,” he trails off. </p><p>Goro grabs his glasses off the table and puts them on with a dramatic gesture. “I’m no master of disguise like you are. It’ll never work out.” </p><p>Jumping off the bed, Akira throws his arms over his lover’s shoulders and grins at him. “Geez, Goro. If all it takes to get you to show your sense of humor is to make you come, I’m going to want to do it all the time, you know?” </p><p>“Hmm. I think I can cope with that.” He spins Akira around so his back is to the bed, walking him resolutely towards it. “Ready for another match, Thief of Hearts?” </p><p>Akira... Joker... smirks right back at him. “Always, my Prince” </p>
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